


Chameleon Arch of Infinity

by SpaceTimeConundrum



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chameleon Arch, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Serial: s123 Arc of Infinity, Sexual Content, Time Lords Being Stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceTimeConundrum/pseuds/SpaceTimeConundrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why kill the Doctor to save the universe when you can simply reprogram his DNA?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Let's face it, _Arc of Infinity_ was a hot mess. What follows is my attempt to reshape the elements that _did_ work into something better, because there were some genuinely good ideas in that serial. Because I have little interest in replicating television scenes wholesale, the action in this story picks up more or less in the middle of the second episode. I've tried to preserve enough exposition that this will be perfectly intelligible to readers lacking great familiarity with the serial in question, but I'd strongly recommend viewing it beforehand if you've never seen it. Expect a few spoilers for some of Five  & Nyssa's Big Finish adventures together.

“There must be another way to sever this antimatter creature's connection to the Doctor. Surely the society that invented regeneration has the technological capability to shield his genetic signature or change his biodata without harming him!” Nyssa's voice was sharp with anger, still fuming following her audience with the High Council.

Damon had been too preoccupied with how they were going to discover who had betrayed the Doctor by transmitting his biodata extract off-world to consider the problem from that angle. The High Council had made up their minds that executing him was the only way to avert the danger to their universe in time; it never occurred to him to question that assumption. Her words gave him pause.

“You're right,” he said slowly, working the idea over in his mind. “An ordinary biodamper wouldn't be enough, but like you said, if we _altered his biodata_ then there'd be no matching signature to link up with.” 

“Yes, exactly. Is it possible?”

“Theoretically, of course. But we need a way to do it in a hurry; that's more difficult. I'm a Matrix Technician, not a geneticist," he explained. "But I think I may know of something...” he said with cautious excitement. “There's a bit of outdated Gallifreyan technology installed on older TARDISes that could do it, perhaps.” He grinned, pleased that his hobby of reading up on obscure bits of time capsule gadgetry was proving useful. “Chameleon arches are capable of temporarily reconfiguring a Time Lord's body to match the DNA of any other humanoid species; they were invented to enable researchers to observe more primitive societies from within.”

Nyssa's eyes lit up. “That sounds promising.”

Damon looked about them nervously for potential eavesdroppers before continuing his explanation in a hushed voice. “Their use was discontinued due to the side effects of the process. Very few humanoid brains are compatible with a Gallifreyan mind, so in most cases, the subject's memories have to be stored in the device and an alternative mental history constructed for them. It proved very inconvenient and potentially dangerous in practice; the transformation prevents regeneration and it isn't always possible to activate the reversal mechanism in time. Several Time Lords were accidentally killed before they discontinued the programme. It's risky, and wouldn't be a permanent solution, but it might give us enough time to stop the entity.” 

“The Doctor won't like the idea of being helpless, but surely it's better than the alternative,” Nyssa said, thinking. “Do you think we could locate one of these devices quickly?”

“There's probably one installed on the Doctor's own ship, a Type 40 is certainly an old enough model.” 

“And if there isn't or it's in disrepair?” she asked, remembering the conversation she'd had with the Doctor earlier that day about TARDIS maintenance. 

“Then we'll have to search the shipyards. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.”

“We need to see him.”

Damon nodded. “That may be tricky, he's closely confined; I was able to pass him a copy of the transmission log when they were escorting him back to the security compound, but Maxil's guards nearly had me arrested. Councillor Hedin is friends with the Doctor, perhaps he'll be able to help us convince the Castellan.” He stood to lead her out into the corridor, and they walked briskly towards the Executive Wing where the councillors' private offices were located.

—

With Hedin's assistance, the Castellan was more sympathetic to their pleas and granted them permission to visit the Doctor, who had been confined to his TARDIS. Nyssa and Damon practically ran through the Capitol to reach the security compound. The Chancellery Guard were not happy to see them when they arrived outside the blue police box and requested entry.

“You have visitors, Doctor,” Commander Maxil announced with a distinct note of distaste as he allowed them into the console room. 

“Doctor,” Nyssa greeted her friend with relief when he appeared.

“How did you get in here?” he asked in a tone that might have been irritation, might have been worry.

“Councillor Hedin arranged it with the Castellan.”

“Well, that's very generous of the Castellan. Come, we'll walk while we speak,” he replied, ushering them toward the door.

“You will remain here,” the Commander snarled, “where I may keep an eye on you.”

“The Castellan said that we might be alone,” Damon protested, though the Castellan had said no such thing.

He scowled, but relented. “Very well. You have twenty microspans. See that you don't go wandering off.” The implied threat was clear. 

“Excellent.” The Doctor spoke with false cheer, aware that they still had an audience as they made their way out of the room. “Well, Damon, what news of my old companion Leela?"

“She's well and very happy,” Damon supplied, somewhat thrown off by the unexpected question, but catching on quickly.

“I was so sorry to have missed her wedding. Still, perhaps I'll get to see her before I go...” He trailed off as he closed the door to Nyssa's bedroom behind them. “Maxil has just planted a listening device in the console room,” he informed them in a low voice.

“Are you all right Doctor?” Nyssa asked, eyes wary for signs of further mistreatment now that they were alone. He seemed tired, but unharmed.

“I'm fine,” he replied a little too quickly to be reassuring and changed the subject, clapping his hands together. “We've other concerns at the moment; we now have proof that my biodata extract was removed from the Matrix.” He held up the thin printout that Damon had been able to pass to him in the corridor earlier.

“Yes, I know, Doctor,” Nyssa said. They had a slightly more pressing situation to deal with before they could find the traitor on Gallifrey.

“This is a disaster in the making," he continued. "Unless I'm mistaken, Gallifrey could lose control of the space-time Matrix.”

“But that's impossible,” Damon chimed in. Maintaining the security of the Matrix was one of his highest priorities as a technician. It was exceedingly well protected from outside influence.

“That's exactly what the High Council think. So, we must see what we can do to stop it happening.”

“Of course, Doctor, but we'll hardly be able to do that if they kill you first,” Nyssa interrupted him.

“Regardless of how grim things may seem at the moment Nyssa, I highly doubt the traitor will actually allow me to be executed,” he assured her. “I'm vital to this creature's plans to infiltrate our universe. Once we've ensured the Matrix is safe, we'll simply need to find a way to force this person to reveal themselves.”

“And you intend to do this how? By sitting here and hoping everything turns out all right? You could be playing right into their hands for all you know!” Nyssa's voice had risen and there were spots of colour high on her cheeks. 

The Doctor frowned. Whatever it was that he was about to say in reply was pre-empted by Nyssa speaking up again. 

“We came to tell you that we believe we've found an alternative solution to the bonding problem, one which the High Council, in their haste, neglected to even consider.”

“And that would be...?” the Doctor asked, genuinely curious.

“A chameleon arch, Doctor,” Damon answered.

“What?” The Doctor looked alarmed. “No, that's hardly a solution at all! If anything, it would place us in even further danger by rendering me incapable of assisting in our investigation.”

“That may be, _however_ ,” Damon began, but Nyssa jumped in, having had a few new thoughts of her own on the matter.

“That's not necessarily the case. Damon told me that this device could be used to replicate the biology of _any_ humanoid species -”

“Yes, but using it would mean confining my conscious mind to an outdated contraption for the duration and leaving my body in the metaphorical hands of an artificial personality.”

“Only if the target species' brain is incompatible with housing a Time Lord mind, Doctor. But we both know of at least one other species capable of managing such a task, don't we?”

The Doctor's expression became pained. Yes, he knew precisely what, or rather whom, Nyssa was referring to: the Master, who had successfully stolen her father's Trakenite body and suffered no apparent damage to his mental prowess in the process (though with the Master, such things were difficult to gage). Damon, who was unaware of this shared history between the two travellers, felt rather out of the loop. 

“Nyssa. Even supposing that could work, it's still a very risky procedure which would leave me particularly vulnerable should things go poorly.”

“More so than putting your life in the hands of the High Council's executioner?” she countered.

The Doctor closed his mouth and simply starred at her. His companion's fiercely protective intentions were evident in her glare and crossed-arms; she wasn't likely to budge on this point. He sighed and looked to Damon, who had wisely stepped back to let them argue it out. “Do you believe the Council would even agree to this alternative?”

“Perhaps if we were to present it to them as _fait accompli_ ,” the other Gallifreyan suggested. “Does your TARDIS have a working module installed?”

“There is one onboard, I believe it's in the medical bay, but I've never had occasion to test it.” He turned back to Nyssa. “We'll need a sufficient distraction in order to accomplish this transformation without Maxil and the rest of the Guard storming in here.” 

Smiling wryly at his acceptance of her idea, Nyssa nodded.

“In case this doesn't work as planned, I want us able to leave as soon as possible. Damon, I know you've already risked a great deal for me, but could I impose upon you a little further?”

“Anything.”

“I need another space-time element for the TARDIS, preferably one without a recall circuit.”

“I'll see what I can do. Anything else?”

“Yes. You could check to see if the Matrix is aware of any recent details concerning power equipment - movement, transportation. Nyssa and I will see to the chameleon arch.”

Damon was nodding when the bedroom door swung open abruptly, admitting the humourless form of Commander Maxil, absurd plumed hat tucked under his arm.

“Commander, is our time up so soon? I had thought we had several more spans remaining.” The Doctor kept his back to the other man, flicking his eyes up to meet Nyssa's. He assumed a stern tone. “Well, Nyssa, that's my final word. If my appeal is denied, we must accept the decision of the High Council. Understood?”

Taking her cue, Nyssa let her lip wobble as though she were fighting back tears and nodded once, hesitantly, before collapsing to the floor in a passable imitation of a swoon. The Doctor was at her side nearly instantly, scooping her up and carrying her past the irritated Guard Commander, moving briskly to avoid being stopped. 

Voice full of concern, the Doctor insisted on taking her to his ship's medical bay so that he could examine her properly. “My companion is extremely sensitive to psychic shocks; I'm afraid this situation may have done her genuine harm,” he argued as he strode purposefully down the corridor with Nyssa's limp form cradled in his arms.

Maxil was not so easily swayed. “When the warrant is issued Doctor, you are to report to the place of termination immediately. This foolishness will not allow you to delay your sentence.”

The Doctor rounded on him angrily. “You may have your orders Maxil, but I also take my responsibilities very seriously and, so long as I am still alive, the well-being of my companion takes precedence. Allow me to ensure that she is all right and afterwards I will accompany you willingly when the time comes.”

“Very well. Make it quick, Doctor. My patience is already at an end.”

The Doctor nodded and continued onward to his spoken destination. Maxil followed him, insisting on keeping them in his sight. Damon, meanwhile, slipped back out of the TARDIS through the console room, on his way to begin assembling a space-time element, trusting the Doctor and Nyssa to handle the rest.

Once they entered the small shipboard medical bay, and escaped the observation of any other guards, things moved rather swiftly. 

The Doctor laid Nyssa down on the first examination bed and dashed to a cupboard across the room claiming he needed to retrieve something. His actions kept Maxil's eyes off of Nyssa, who dropped her fainting ruse as soon as his back was turned and rolled off of the bed. While the Doctor provided cover by rummaging through cabinets loudly, she silently fetched a hypospray from a bedside drawer and injected a sedative into the back of the oblivious Commander's neck. Maxil dropped like a stone, unconscious before he even had time for a whimper of alarm.

Hurrying to lock the door before anyone else could walk in, the Doctor gave Nyssa an admiring look. “Neatly done. I shall have to bear this incident in mind, next time we have a disagreement.”

“I may have given him too much. I had to guess at the dosage; he's about your height, but it was difficult to be certain of his weight with the armour, and it would have been unfortunate for us both if I'd selected too low of a dose. Help me get him up onto the bed,” she answered.

Together, they lifted the unconscious Gallifreyan up, relieved him of his weapon, and secured him to the bed with a medical stasis field. Wasting no time, the Doctor went to look for the chameleon arch.

“I know I saw it in here somewhere,” he said, digging through a cluttered cabinet. “Ah ha!” 

He withdrew a strange contraption that resembled a crude spinal immobilisation halo with what seemed to be an ordinary fob watch from Earth attached to the ring. He took it over to connect it into the primary diagnostic panel, causing a long string of Gallifreyan symbols to appear on the screen. Nyssa joined him at the computer terminal while he programmed the settings.

“We're in luck,” he said with relief, “it _is_ possible to disable the personality override, though the warnings against doing so without certain knowledge of species compatibility are rather dire. Fortunately, there are a couple of Trakenite DNA scans available in the databank for use as a template.” The Doctor gave her a wan smile.

“Do you know how long the process will take? They're bound to notice their commander's disappearance soon.”

“I'm not sure,” he answered. “It may be best to do this in one of the isolation beds; I expect this will be extremely painful.” He finished setting the device and clipped the 'watch' back into place on the halo.

Nyssa stepped out of the way as he carried the device over to the nearest isolation bed. The wires were just long enough to reach provided he lay down with his head at what was intended to be the foot of the bed. Once the Doctor had shucked his coat and sat, she helped him position the halo on himself. Her heart fluttered in her chest when she saw how apprehensive he suddenly became wearing the device. 

He gripped her hand tightly. “If something goes wrong, the reversal mechanism is contained within the watch. You need only to open it in my presence to return me to myself,” he told her.

Putting her hand on his shoulder, she assured him that she would, if it came to it. “You'll be just fine, Doctor. Think of it as a temporary regeneration.” 

The Doctor nodded and advised her to take a step back. “This probably won't be pleasant to watch; I don't suppose that will stop you though, will it?” Nyssa shook her head. “Very well. Wish me luck.” She gave his shoulder a parting squeeze and reached over to switch on the bed's isolation field. He took a deep breath and activated the device.

As he predicted, seeing the Doctor in agony and being helpless to do anything for him was torture for her. With the shielding on, she couldn't hear his screaming, but watching it was painful enough. Finally, she had to shut her eyes against the sight. After waiting what seemed like ages, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, the computer made a soft chirping sound. Nyssa cautiously opened her eyes and saw that he was lying still. Cancelling the isolation field, she stepped up to the bed and gently removed the chameleon arch from his head, smoothing his sweat-dampened blond hair back from his face as she did so. 

His skin felt warmer, and he was breathing so shallowly she could barely see his chest rise and fall. Compelled by curiosity, she slid two fingers below his jaw to feel for a pulse. There it was: slightly rapid, but slowing, the single, steady beat of one heart. One _Trakenite_ heart, she realised and the thought suddenly overwhelmed her. She'd been so focused on saving his life that she'd forgotten to account for her own feelings.

In the years since her home planet's destruction, Nyssa had resigned herself to being the last surviving member of her species. To be confronted, however temporarily, with her dear friend in a Trakenite body created a confusing emotional response in her. She felt inexplicably drawn to him, yet deeply saddened by the reminder of the loss of her people. 

Puzzling out that mix of feelings would have to wait though, as her contemplation was interrupted by a pounding on the infirmary door.

Not wishing to provoke the Capitol guards any more than necessary, Nyssa pocketed the fob watch-shaped component and walked over to the door, intending to open it once she'd dealt with her captive. The commotion had roused Maxil, who was now groggily thrashing at his restraints. 

“My apologies, Commander, but it was necessary in order to prevent your interference.” He stared blearily at her and demanded to be set free. “I intend to. But first, I want you to tell your men to stand down and give me your assurance that no harm will befall either the Doctor or myself en route to the High Council's Chambers. There has been an important development in the matter which must be brought to their immediate attention.”

“What have you done?” he asked, looking from her stern face to the Doctor, lying motionless in the other bed. 

“With any luck, prevented the incursion of a dangerous antimatter creature into this universe,” Nyssa replied.

Maxil glared at her. “Release me and I won't have you confined to a security cell.” Nyssa didn't move. Realising he was in a poor position to negotiate, the belligerent Gallifreyan sighed. “You have my word that no harm will come to you or the Doctor until I've brought you both before the Council.”

Nyssa deactivated the bed restraints and stood back as Maxil climbed unsteadily to his feet. Reclaiming his sidearm from atop the counter and holstering it, he opened the door to meet the startled gazes of his men, who had been trying to force the lock mechanism.

“Sir. Is everything all right in here?” one of them asked. “We were informed that the prisoner's guest had fallen ill while speaking with him and then you didn't return.” The men eyed Nyssa, who was clearly perfectly healthy and calmly tending to a prone Doctor in the background. “The Castellan has just issued the warrant for termination,” he added quietly.

“I have the situation in hand, Henzil,” Maxil assured him, maintaining his officious posture despite being somewhat the worse for wear after having been drugged. Saying otherwise would have meant admitting he'd been bested by the young alien woman's childish ruse and he had no desire to appear foolish or weak. “The Doctor has simply been making excuses in an effort to postpone his termination. We shall escort them both to the High Council at once.”

While the Chancellery Guards discussed the situation, Nyssa was busy attempting to get the Doctor upright and able to walk following his ordeal with the chameleon arch. 

Woken by her gentle urging, the Doctor sat up slowly, blinking as he took stock of himself. After the blinding pain he'd endured until he lost consciousness, he felt strangely numb, as though all of his senses had been subtly reduced in efficacy. Worse, his temporal senses had gone entirely, leaving an eerie feeling of incompleteness behind. He'd had concussions that were less disorientating than this. Nyssa's presence at his side stood out to him like a burning ember of worry in the small room filled with emotionally distant Time Lords. 

"Doctor?"

Instinctively, he reached out to reassure her only to withdraw his hand awkwardly a second later; his fingers had only brushed her skin when the intensity of her concern, or at least his awareness of it, increased threefold. The cause of this startling phenomenon was lost on him until he remembered – Nyssa's people were natural empaths; Nyssa herself being a particularly sensitive example. And where had the TARDIS gotten the genetic pattern to base his own Trakenite form on? It was to be entirely expected that he would inherit some of that sensitivity, not that that knowledge made him feel any less ill at ease with this development.

“It worked,” he whispered with an uncertain smile, “I'm still myself.” _Mostly_ , he thought.

Their hushed conversation was the first confirmation she'd had that the process had preserved his full cognitive capabilities. To say she was relieved would have been an understatement.

She smiled back at him and the Doctor felt his breath catch involuntarily in response to the burst of feeling that accompanied it. He felt almost as though someone had just set off an incendiary device right next to his head, it was that jarring. This was going to take some getting used to. The empathic sense felt a lot less precise than the telepathic abilities he had experience managing; he hoped he wasn't projecting as loudly as he was receiving. Another, smaller part of him wondered what it might feel like to be around her when she was in a truly happy mood.

“Are you feeling well enough to stand? We need to present our solution to the High Council before Commander Maxil forgets his promise to me.”

“What promise?” he asked, bringing his legs around to slide off of the infirmary bed.

Nyssa kept her expression carefully neutral and ignored his question, instead taking his arm to steady him as he stood. Fortunately, aside from some mild light-headedness, he found his motor coordination largely unaffected; to reduce discomfort and the amount of energy required for the process, the chameleon arch was programmed to preserve as much of the Time Lord's original physical appearance as possible. Since none of his features were outside the normal range for a Trakenite male of his apparent age, he ought to look much the same. He picked up his coat and put it back on, smoothing the lapels and adjusting his celery.

Maxil gave the Doctor an irritated look and motioned for the pair of them to precede him out of the infirmary, guards flanking them on all sides to prevent any more unscheduled detours along the way.

—

The Doctor's arrival was attended by an inordinate amount of pomp and circumstance. The Time Lords, recognising the extremity of their decision, if not the lack of necessity for it, had fallen back on the familiar comfort of ceremony. Commander Maxil even wore his hat for the occasion. It was almost a shame that he was about to spoil their fun, the Doctor thought bitterly.

Lord President Borusa's voice carried easily across the chamber. “Doctor, _you_ have been summoned to the place of termination, not your companion. I do not believe this is something you would wish her to witness."

"I trust you know what you're doing," the Doctor said with an edge of anger in his voice, ignoring the President's remark regarding his companion. Nyssa glanced over at him, no doubt wondering why he wasn't explaining himself yet. He held a flat hand out low at his side to assure her that he had a plan.

"You know the choice we have to face Doctor. Our duty, if not our conscience, is clear," Borusa replied.

"And the decision was unanimous?" the Doctor asked.

"There was one dissenter, your good friend, Councillor Hedin."

"Thank you, Hedin. I much appreciate all that you've done," he nodded gravely to his friend, who accepted the gesture with uncomfortable grace. 

"However," the Doctor paused to give his next words more weight, "I'm afraid you're all quite mistaken on one point." He smiled. "My death will not be necessary after all. While the Council debated the morality of executing one of your own, safe and secure in your private chambers, I took the liberty of rendering myself incompatible with the creature's attempts to complete the bonding process. I stand before you stripped of my Gallifreyan form." He spread both arms out, inviting their inquiries.

For a moment, the silence in the room was palpable, and then all of the gathered Time Lords began speaking at once. The Doctor stood patiently with his hands clasped behind his back, resisting the irrational urge to take a bow.

"What is the meaning of this?" Borusa demanded over the din and the room quieted again.

"Just what he says, Lord President," Nyssa answered. "The creature cannot bond with the Doctor because we've modified his biosignature from the one it originally targeted. Genetically speaking, the Doctor is now one of my own people."

"My ship is equipped with a functional chameleon arch," the Doctor explained. "I am prepared to remain in this form until the creature is located and dispatched back to its own universe. I trust this is a satisfactory answer to the Council's concerns?" He scanned the faces of the councillors as he spoke, watching their reactions carefully. There were too many people in the room radiating strong emotions for his new empathic sensitivities to reliably pick out any individual notes. Whomever the traitor was, they hadn't given themselves away just yet.

"Given this new information, the order of termination will be postponed to allow time for the High Council to investigate the veracity of your claims," Borusa announced. "You will submit to an examination, Doctor, and provided what you say is true, and the threat to our universe posed by the creature's use of your biodata has been averted, we will gladly rescind our order and grant you your freedom. However, you will not be permitted to leave the Capitol or revert to your natural form until such time as we are satisfied that the danger has entirely passed."

The president turned to the guards standing next to him. "Lord Castellan, Commander Maxil, please have the Doctor escorted to the Capitol infirmary for an examination and then have him and his companion confined to a diplomatic quarters until we call for them."

"Lord President, if I may," the Doctor spoke up, "in light of the recent security breach, I request that the details of any bioscans performed on myself be kept confidential and not entered into the Matrix archive. The word of Gallifrey's finest physicians ought to be sufficient to confirm my statements for the Council without placing my life at additional unnecessary risk."

Borusa pursed his lips and nodded. "Your request is not unreasonable. See that it is honoured, Lord Castellan." And with that, the Time Lord President dismissed the assembly.

—

Confirming the Doctor's altered biology took very little time at all, though their escorts quickly grew tired of the Chief Physician's questions regarding the details of his modifications to the chameleon arch's normal parameters. She'd been duly impressed when he informed her that it had been Nyssa's suggestion and would have kept them there longer for a more in depth discussion had the Castellan not abruptly announced that they were done.

While the Chief Physician had regarded him with fascination and admiration for the ingenuity and bravery involved in undertaking such a drastic transformation without prior testing, the other Time Lords he'd interacted with thus far seemed to regard the Doctor's new condition with something like pity or disgust. Word had quickly spread throughout the Capitol and wherever they went, they were met with curious stares and whispers. It made him more than a little grateful to be rid of their company for a while when the door to the modest diplomatic apartment slid shut behind them. He sighed and made for the utilitarian sofa, sitting and massaging his temples wearily.

Nyssa regarded him thoughtfully. "How do you feel, Doctor?" she asked.

"I shouldn't think you'd have to ask, Nyssa," he answered dryly, then softened his reply with an amused sound in his throat that was almost a chuckle.

She smiled softly and sat down next to him.

"Tell me," he continued, "is it always like this for you? Are other people always this..." He searched for the right word. "...noisy?" 

"You learn to filter it out with practice, but yes, it can be overwhelming at times." She placed a hand over his on the cushion and pretended not to hear the surprised breath he took at the contact. He didn't flinch or try to move away from her touch though.

"I can see why your people were so devoted to peace and harmony," he noted, for lack of anything better to say.

"Yes."

A silence fell between them as they both thought of the beautiful world that the Master's thoughtless attempt at galactic conquest had destroyed. Regretting his insensitive words and the melancholic feelings he'd caused his companion, the Doctor turned to Nyssa apologetically. 

"Thank you for your assistance today," he said simply, though there was much more that he might have said to her. 

They'd been travelling together for so long that he'd come to rely on her sensible nature, keen intellect, and unerring moral compass to see him through some of the most difficult situations that the universe had to offer. He often worried about protecting her, and making sure that she got to experience beauty and happiness in their journeys as well, but it was rare that he allowed himself to reflect upon how much she meant to him personally. They were good friends. He dared not probe the depths of his affection for her, lest he discover some uncomfortable truths waiting there.

"I'm glad it worked," she replied, picking up on some of the deeper feeling behind his words and deciding to stick to a safe topic. She wasn't used to the Doctor being such an open book. Normally he tried to hide his vulnerability behind a polite wall of stoicism or, when that didn't work, bitter sarcasm; even when he was candid with her, it was always harder to read him than most. She'd discovered today that emotional guardedness was likely a common trait among his people; the Time Lords all felt eerily sterile in their interactions to her. If he was feeling overwhelmed here on Gallifrey, then it was lucky they weren't on Earth or some other far more boisterous world. She knew him well enough to know that he'd adapt to this like any other predicament they found themselves in, but it still made her wish there was something more she could do when she felt him struggling.

"So am I," he agreed and surprised himself with a yawn.

"You ought to rest, Doctor, you've been through a lot today and you'll find that a Trakenite body is less capable of sustaining itself without sleep than the one you're used to."

He shook his head. "We ought to be searching for signs of that creature's location, or attempting to seek out the source of the data leak."

"Neither of which we can do while we're locked up in here," she countered reasonably. "I believe there is a bedroom just through that portal over there."

"What about you?"

"My body has not just been completely reconfigured on the cellular level; this sofa will do me just fine if I decide I need it," she insisted. " _Rest_ , Doctor."

Reluctantly, he stood and made his way to the bed. Still yawning as he removed his shoes, coat, and jumper, he was asleep nearly the instant his head hit the pillow.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is why this fic has an M rating; consider yourself warned.

At first, his dreams were chaotic, alternating between visions of shocking violence and the tranquillity of a cricket pitch on a late summer afternoon, the scenes shifting too quickly for him to do anything more than spectate. Then, abruptly, he found himself walking in a beautiful garden; it was raining - misting, really - and Nyssa was with him, holding his arm. She was dressed much as she had been when he'd first met her, covered in velvet and heaps of translucent fabric petals, except this was his companion as he knew her now, older and with the wisdom of experience well beyond her years shining in her grey eyes. He was trying to explain something to her and she was arguing an opposite point politely, her expression fond.

The scene would have been pleasant had it not been overshadowed by a sinister, lurking presence in the background. He could feel it creeping closer to them with every step, but whenever he tried to warn her, he couldn't find the words, so he simply walked faster.

Something flickered in his peripheral vision and when he turned to see what it was, nothing but darkness met his gaze. He looked back to discover Nyssa had disappeared without making a sound.

Frantic, he ran calling her name as the garden dissolved into nothingness around him.

He woke with a start to find her standing over him, hand on his arm, attempting to gently bring him out of the nightmare. "Just a dream," he gasped out between panting breaths, rolling over onto his side. He could feel his new heart pounding in his chest and cotton shirt clinging to his damp skin. 

"I heard you call my name from the other room." Her brow wrinkled with concern. "I can leave now if you're all right."

"No," he said, perhaps too quickly. "Stay a moment, if you will. Just until I catch my breath." He needed the reminder that she was safe and well.

She sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands neatly in her lap. The Doctor ran a hand through his hair and tried to expel the dream from his mind. 

There was no logical reason for him to be as shaken up as he was; he'd been separated from her before, countless times, and on each occasion, they'd eventually managed to find their way back to one another, though in a few unfortunate instances it had taken years. He decided to blame the chameleon arch for his unease since it was a convenient target.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, realising that this was the second time he'd had to ask a similar question that day.

"A little less than two hours," she estimated. There was a clock in the kitchen area, next to a small food machine, but she hadn't exactly been keeping track.

He nodded as though this were supremely helpful information and tugged at his collar to allow cool air to slip underneath it. The room felt stiflingly warm; if he'd been alone he might have removed his shirt altogether. Perhaps he ought to have checked the wardrobe for something suitable to sleep in before lying down. 

"I believe the Council have elected to leave us here for the night; I should have expected a summons by now if they intended to resolve the matter before morning," she said logically, anticipating his next train of thought.

"Dragging their feet to avoid dealing with me," he sighed and rubbed his face. "That sounds like them. Let us do all the heavy lifting and lose all urgency to act once the immediate danger is passed. And they wonder why I left." He shook his head. "Of course, one of them knows a great deal more about this creature than they're letting on."

"They seem determined to deny that fact."

"Curious, isn't it? But hardly surprising, given the amount of political manoeuvring that goes on here. Still, whomever the traitor is, we've just tossed a sizable boulder in their path; I'm hoping to inspire them to take more direct action out of desperation. That's how we'll catch them out."

"Will we be safe remaining here?"

"Safe enough for tonight at least, I should think," he answered with more confidence than he truly felt. "I ought to let you take the bed," he added when he noticed her sinking a little into the mattress.

She protested that he was still the one who needed it more, but he used her own argument about Trakenites requiring more rest than Time Lords against her; Nyssa's obvious weariness practically made his case for him.

Eventually they arrived at a compromise and agreed to share, with her sleeping underneath the blanket and him atop it. If he'd been his normal self, he likely would have insisted on retreating to the sofa to appease his own sense of propriety, but under the circumstances it seemed churlish to continue arguing if sharing was fine with her. That this arrangement also kept her near enough for him to protect should his prediction regarding their safety prove overly optimistic may have factored into his decision. 

It was hardly the first time they'd slept near one another, but the accommodations on those prior occasions had usually been much less hospitable. Gallifrey was not known for its openness towards other civilisations, but they at least recognised the necessity of maintaining civil diplomatic relations with their planetary neighbors and, to that end, provided adequate facilities to receive foreign emissaries when required. The small suite was well appointed where it counted; the bedding extremely soft and inviting.

Despite their mutual exhaustion and the relative comfort of the bed, relaxation did not come easily at first; they were too keyed into one another's presence, which amplified the ambient anxiety in the room. Drawing on the mental discipline exercises he'd learned in the Academy to try to lessen his awareness of her, the Doctor was nearly successfully asleep again when a whispered question brought him back from the edge.

“Doctor?”

“Yes?” He couldn't make out more than the pale shape of her face in the dim light, but he could tell she was upset about something. He'd lost what tenuous control the exercises had given him and snapped back into close feedback with her almost instantly when she'd spoken.

“How long has it been since you were last on Gallifrey?” she asked.

That wasn't the question he'd been expecting from her, not that he was at all sure what it was he had thought she'd been about to say. “Some time,” he murmured, because in truth he did not know how many years it had been. Not so long as a human lifetime, he thought, since Leela was reportedly still alive and well, but he was terrible at keeping track. His last visit had been rather disastrous, even if things had turned out all right in the end, and he'd been loathe to face the High Council again since leaving Romana behind in E-Space.

“Do you ever miss it? Not the politics and Capitol guards,” she added hastily. "There must be more that your homeworld has to offer than this. I've seen some of the plants in the TARDIS arboretum; surely they came from somewhere beautiful. And what about your friends, like Damon and Councillor Hedin. Family?” she suggested gently. Her tone was faintly wistful.

He was beginning to see where this conversation was leading. Even if he hadn't just become a living, breathing reminder of all that she had lost, visiting his home planet was bound to make her think of her own. 

“Yes,” he admitted. “There are some things that I miss, old friends I've left behind.” His voice grew thoughtful. “But those I miss the most, anything that might've held me here, were gone long before I left and, however much I might wish to, I can't go back.” 

He let out a slow breath. “I don't allow myself to think on it too often. Dwelling on what we can't change rarely ends well. When I need to, I remember them.” His reply carried the weight of several lifetimes worth of regret.

“I find myself forgetting sometimes,” she said quietly, her voice sad. “Little things. Like which flowers we'd planted that spring, the name of a book my father had leant me, faces of acquaintances, even friends. Details that shouldn't matter, yet they do because they're all I have left.” She paused and the Doctor thought he felt her suppress a shudder; he rolled onto his side to face her and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. 

“It happened when my mother died; every day that passed without her, it got harder and harder to hold onto it all. Memories can never stay perfectly preserved over time; I know that. And yet, I wish they could," she admitted.

The Doctor nodded and let her continue, patting her arm gently. He understood, all too well.

"I'd forgotten what it felt like, to share that natural connection with one of my own people, how much I missed it. I'm very sorry, Doctor, because I realise it's been terribly disconcerting for you." 

_Ah_. That explained the guilt he was sensing from her. She needn't have worried, if their positions were reversed and he'd been the last of his kind, he couldn't say that he would react any differently. He too had experienced the unexpected bond that seemed to exist between them now. To have lived without it for so many years and then suddenly have it back, with the knowledge that it couldn't last had to make it all the worse for her.

"It's merely a change from what I'm used to, but not an unpleasant one," he said softly, pulling her in close to his chest to reassure her. She came willingly and curled up against him with a small sigh. “There's no need to apologise; I know what it's like to be confronted with a reminder of the past you weren't expecting.” He sighed. “I only wish that there was more that I could do for you.”

They lay like that for a few minutes, with the Doctor absently stroking her back until the wave of melancholy passed. Though he'd meant it primarily for her benefit, the contact made him feel better as well; whether that was because he was still mirroring her emotional state or simply his own need for a hug, he didn't care to speculate. 

The Doctor dropped his chin, intending to press a chaste kiss to the crown of her head, but she shifted slightly to look up at him at the same time. Without thinking, he reacted by dipping his mouth a little lower to find hers. Nyssa returned his gentle pressure with her own for a few blissful seconds until they both realised what they were doing. 

Pulling back a few bare centimetres, they lay wide-eyed in what was undeniably an embrace, breathing unsteadily as they tried to process what had happened. The mood had shifted dramatically; the scant space between them seemed to crackle with an invisible charge, drawing them back together.

"Nyssa, I..." he said, faltering in his attempt to explain himself. He made to release her, worried that he might simply be reacting to confusing signals from his alien physiology, but she stopped him by leaning in to initiate another kiss. This time it was deliberate, unmistakably so, making it an altogether different experience. An infinitely _better_ experience, in fact.

Suddenly feeling hyperaware of every nerve ending in his new body, the Doctor was finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate on the reasons why this behaviour was wholly inappropriate and he ought to stop it immediately. 

It would have been a lie to say that this was something that had _never_ entered his thoughts before, in the form of fleeting notions that he had no business entertaining and were always swiftly dismissed to the dark corners of his subconscious. Nyssa was an incredibly capable, caring, and beautiful young woman. He might be nearly nine hundred years old, but he wasn't blind.

Acting on that repressed attraction now, of all times, was probably a tremendously poor decision, but he couldn't find it in himself to care, and evidently, neither could she. Excuses and rationalisations flooded the Doctor's mind as he reacted in exactly the manner he'd just been telling himself he shouldn't, wrapping his arms around her tighter and giving himself over to the sensation of his mouth on hers. 

For her part, Nyssa was experiencing similar trouble focusing on anything beyond how it felt. The first kiss had been unexpected, but hardly unwelcome; she'd hesitated only for a fraction of a second before responding favourably. The second was an irresistable impulse which overrode her natural composure. She didn't imagine this opportunity would come again, so she'd seized upon the idea that they hadn't really done a proper job of it yet and they'd need more data to evaluate the situation. Or at least, that's the justification she gave herself.

Years of life on the TARDIS together had formed an unbreakable bond between them; her home was by his side and it would remain so until she decided that she was badly needed elsewhere. She found him attractive, certainly - she was still young and not entirely immune to that charming smile of his - but he'd always acted oblivious to such considerations himself, and Nyssa was perfectly content to share his friendship, so it made little sense to wish for anything else. There'd been moments when she'd wondered if perhaps he felt more than he let on, but she'd never _seriously_ entertained the thought that they might be on the verge of something not strictly platonic. Until now.

Now, Nyssa found herself pleasantly overwhelmed by the Doctor's sudden enthusiasm and more than a little inspired to reciprocate. 

If they'd been tuned into one another's emotional states beforehand, that link was magnified even further by what they were doing. And just as anxiety and worry were multiplied by the empathic connection, so too was desire. It was heady feeling and dangerous because it made it much more difficult for either of them to want to disengage now that they'd begun. 

The Doctor tried to pull Nyssa on top of him, only to get tangled in the blanket between them. He made a low, frustrated sound that had her giggling as she helped him push the bedclothes out of their way. Freed of their restraint, he flipped over, taking her with so that she lay underneath him while he supported most of his weight on his elbows. She made an undignified squeak of surprise and he grinned before leaning down to kiss her again with a renewed sense of urgency. 

Tongues got more involved as the kissing deepened and buttons came undone as curious hands went exploring. What had begun with purely innocent intentions was rapidly heading toward a rather different sort of adventure. 

"Doctor?" she finally asked when he dropped his mouth to her bared throat; having his hips pressed up against her had brought home to Nyssa how swiftly things were escalating. She didn't particularly want to be the voice of reason right now, but felt one of them ought to say something before they got completely carried away.

"Mmm?" he replied, thoroughly distracted by other activities.

"Not that I'm objecting to any of this, because it feels amazing, but..." She paused to gasp when he located a particularly sensitive spot along her collarbone. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

He came up for air and looked at her, even though it was still too dark in the room to see very well. The intoxicating fog of pleasure dropped to a manageable level, allowing him to think clearly again. He was breathing hard and his trousers had become rather uncomfortably snug. _Oh dear_.

"I'm very sorry, Nyssa, I don't know what came over me," he apologised automatically and tried to slide off of her, but she clung to him, preventing his escape.

"Stay," she instructed and he quit trying to squirm away. "Or at least don't go on my account. I'm enjoying this; I just need to know if you're all right. You aren't normally this...affectionate." 

"No, I'm not," he agreed. "This _situation_ is affecting my judgment, reducing my control," he admitted, hanging his head, "it would be extremely irresponsible of me to continue." That was the rational answer and Nyssa had wisely brought him back to his senses before they'd gone too far. And yet... he wasn't moving. 

She reached up to stroke his cheek and card her fingers through his dishevelled hair. The gesture was more intimate than either of them might have ordinarily permitted, but under the circumstances, it felt perfectly natural. "You're not in danger of corrupting me or ruining our friendship, if that's what you're worried about, Doctor. I'm neither fragile nor in need of protection; I have done this sort of thing before. But conversely, I don't wish to take advantage of your condition; if you'd prefer to stop, we can."

The Doctor inhaled sharply at her admission of prior experience, barely resisting the urge to ask when and with whom she'd been... involved. It wasn't any of his business, and besides, he had a pretty good idea who it had been.

That incident wasn't one of his prouder moments; he'd behaved poorly when he discovered her budding relationship with _that boy_ and forced her to choose between them. Though he regretted his harsh words, he still childishly refused feel guilty for the satisfaction it gave him when she'd picked him and the TARDIS in the end. Nyssa deserved a far better life than she'd have gotten if he'd left her behind in Stockbridge.

"What do you want to do?" she prompted him again.

What _did_ he want? That was a difficult question. His honest answer shocked him. He wanted to forget the years between them and his responsibilities, and succumb to temptation. Damn it all, he wanted _her_. This Trakenite form wasn't so unlike his regular Time Lord body that he could claim its influence was overpowering him. Sympathetic neuropathy might be adding fuel to the blaze, but he'd supplied the original kindling himself.

"We really shouldn't," he began, but his resolve was wavering noticeably. "I don't have the best record when it comes to letting other people get close to me. With this sort of thing especially. Feelings get hurt, expectations mishandled; it ends badly and it's usually all my fault. It wouldn't be fair of me to risk doing that to you." _And I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself if I did_ , he didn't add.

Sensing he was looking for an excuse to act, she tried to give him one. "You can't blame yourself for everything that goes wrong, Doctor, especially when other people are involved. And keeping everyone at arm's length to shield yourself and others from heartache is a terribly lonely way to live.” She pressed an open palm against his chest where his missing heart should have been.

"And when it's over?" he whispered, voice cracking slightly.

“Pain is just another part of life; what's important is trying not to cause it unnecessarily, not avoiding it altogether. We've both lost people who were dear to us. Are close friends really that different from lovers in that respect? I've been travelling with you long enough to know that you'd do your best. That's enough for me."

As arguments went, the Doctor had to admit hers was fairly persuasive. Her faith in him was daunting, but nevertheless something he earnestly hoped to live up to. He pressed his lips to her forehead as he weighed the options that lay before him. The tiny, contented sound this action elicited from her sealed his fate; he knew in that instant that no matter how grave an error in judgment this turned out to be, he'd forever wonder about the path not taken if he didn't sprint down this particular fork in the road. 

Consciously suppressing his remaining doubts, the Doctor decided to let himself live a little and found her mouth again in the darkness.

It didn't take them long to rebuild the momentum they'd lost to their conversation and soon additional buttons, fasteners, and zippers fell prey to eager fingers seeking new territory. Clothing was shoved aside hastily and eventually removed altogether in a mutual effort to strip away the last few layers separating them. Every millimetre of newly exposed skin had to be explored carefully and committed to memory.

With the lights off, very little of this investigation was visual; they were heavily reliant on their other senses to guide them. The empathic link was especially helpful when it came to figuring out where to touch and how much pressure was just right. When she felt good, he did, and vice versa. It was strange and wonderful at the same time.

They quickly discovered a slight flaw in this arrangement though, when some deft handiwork by the Doctor nearly sent them both over the edge prematurely. He rolled over onto his back and lay gasping for air for a moment to recover.

"You've better control with this than I do," he said, panting, "it feels _incredible_ , but I doubt I'll last much longer with you reflecting everything back at full strength."

She was rather breathless herself and took a second to gather her reply. "I'll try to contain myself then," she said with a laugh, running her fingers up his bare thigh suggestively. He hissed appreciatively and shifted his hips, pulling her against him again. An enticing heat radiated between them.

As they repositioned themselves, a complication occurred to her. "Doctor, I've only just realised - we haven't thought to take any precautions. How does the chameleon arch deal with gametes, are they converted into Trakenite analogues as well?”

The Doctor swore under his breath. He should've thought of this problem earlier. "I'm not sure. I believe so. There's a good chance I'm no different than any other Trakenite male in that regard right now; we'd better come up with something."

“I believe a barrier method is traditional for most humanoid species when biochemical inhibitors are not readily available. I don't suppose such implements are used on Gallifrey?”

He groaned. “Not for millenia.” 

The concept wasn't unfamiliar to him; he had spent a great deal of time on Earth or otherwise in the company of humans after all. He rubbed his hands over his face, thinking. They certainly had other options if an appropriate solution failed to present itself, but now that he'd gone this far, he couldn't deny the primitive desire to finish this the old fashioned way had grown more compelling.

If they'd been on the TARDIS, he was certain he could've managed to solve this dilemma easily; as it was, their resources were rather limited to the contents of their quarters. As unofficial prison cells went, the diplomatic apartment was a solid choice; alien visitors weren't exactly trusted with anything more complex than a food machine. 

Then again, a _food machine_ might be just the ticket... “Hang on, I think I've had an idea. Back in a tic!” He kissed her swiftly and clambered out of the bed, not bothering to try to locate any of his clothes as he made for the kitchen in a hurry. 

The Doctor grinned as he examined the programmable device installed unobtrusively on the wall in the spartan nook that served as a dining space for the apartment. It was an older unit, nearly identical to the machines they'd had at the Academy which in his misspent youth had been frequent targets of mischief. Given the probable non-standard dietary requirements of diplomatic guests, this one had a broader range of 'edible' materials it would replicate on demand. It would be a simple matter to hack it; then he need only to input the specifications for what he wanted. He got to work.

As he waited impatiently for it to process his request, the Doctor spared a thought for the sheer absurdity of the situation in which he currently found himself; standing naked in a Gallifreyan kitchenette, trying to get a prophylactic from a food machine. He sincerely hoped neither of the guards standing outside the suite elected to check on them right now. This was not something he wanted to explain.

When he finally had three (hopefully functional) prototypes in-hand, he hurried back to Nyssa. She'd switched on a bedside lamp in his absence, suffusing the room with a warm glow. The sight of her sitting there, waiting for him, grey eyes bright and searching, utterly composed despite the rosy flush that coloured her cheeks and spread tantalisingly lower, caused him to stop short just inside the doorway. It was an image which would no doubt live in his memory for a very long time. 

He swallowed nervously under her gaze and held up the fruits of his brief mission with uncharacteristically bashful pride. “I made extras, just in case,” he said.

“Where did you get them?” she asked as he climbed back into the bed with her.

“Food machines have a few more exotic functions than you'd expect,” he replied with a mischievous grin, setting aside two of them to attempt to put the third on himself. Fortunately, it was still warm from the replication process. Rather than watch him fumble with it, she leaned forward to help.

“Hold on, I think you need to be... yes, that's better.” She didn't stop stroking him once it was securely in place. He bent to kiss her and return the favour.

After so many false starts, the Doctor was rapidly losing the ability to form coherent thoughts when she touched him. Seizing her hips, he lifted Nyssa toward him with a possessive growl; she cooperated gladly, wrapping her legs around him, guiding him into position. He caught her eyes and hesitated one last time.

"Not too late to change your mind," he whispered, breathing ragged, not sure if he was checking with her or himself.

"Doctor. _Please_ get on with it."

She sounded so exasperated with him that he had to laugh and did as he was told, punctuating the motion with an involuntary gasp as their bodies joined. Elation drowned out any initial awkwardness and they found a shared rhythm sooner than one might expect, considering they'd never done this together before.

The difference in their heights meant that the Doctor couldn't comfortably keep kissing her throughout, but the exertion of thrusting while supporting most of his body weight so that he wouldn't crush her beneath him had him breathing too hard to have done much else anyway. Sex was much more strenuous work with only one heart and no respiratory bypass to rely on.

It felt as though tremendous pressure was building up between them, like a dam about to break. Their empathic link was wide open; every spike of pleasure in one party was instantly met by an answering echo from their partner. It was almost impossible to tell whose was whose, their sensations had merged so completely. The Doctor's arms were shaking and Nyssa began trembling and squeezing him tighter as the powerful wave neared its crescendo. Finally, when it had gotten so intense that they felt near to bursting, release came for them both suddenly, like a coiled spring compressed to its limit and abruptly set free.

When the blissful spasms had passed, the Doctor collapsed on the bed, remembering at the last second to land to one side so that he wouldn't squash her, and they lay there, dazed, for a while. The experience had wrung them both out, leaving behind extreme exhaustion and a pleasant feeling of warmth and contentment. Words failed him, so once he'd largely caught his breath, he rolled over to press his lips gently to hers before rising unsteadily to visit the adjoining hygiene closet to clean himself up. Nyssa followed him to do the same.

Afterward, they shut off the lamp and flopped wearily back onto the bed. Nyssa took his hand and settled in with her back pressed against the Doctor's chest and he pulled the blanket over them both. They were sound asleep in each other's arms in less than a minute.


	3. Part Three

They found Talor's body in a damaged lift near Beta Sector. The Guard were doing their best to keep the investigation quiet until they had more information, but since Damon was very possibly the last person to see him alive, they'd had to tell him something when they interviewed him. It seemed the poor man had been caught in the lift when it experienced an unexpected power failure and the normally technologically adept Matrix technician had been fatally electrocuted while trying to make repairs.

The scenario struck Damon as being far-fetched and rather conveniently timed when one considered what Talor had discovered not long before his death. Anyone might have overheard him attempting to contact the Castellan regarding the unauthorised biodata transmission they'd intercepted. The incident had happened when Damon's shift was nearly over, so he'd bid the senior technician good evening shortly after his return from the Castellan's office and came back the next morning to find Talor missing and several console circuits fried by some sort of energy overload. He'd been concerned for the other man's well-being, but unsure of whom he could trust and then Commander Maxil's sudden appearance, demanding the immediate recall of the Doctor's TARDIS, had delayed any inquiry into his coworker's whereabouts until it was too late.

If his instincts were correct, and Talor had been killed to prevent his exposing the traitor on the High Council, it would be unwise to admit to anyone what he knew. Certainly not before he had solid proof, and the only piece of evidence they had was currently in the Doctor's possession. Damon lied carefully to the investigators, omitting any reference to biodata in his account of his movements the day before.

None of the guards he spoke to seemed eager to believe that foul play had been involved, but neither had they any good explanations for why Talor hadn't simply regenerated if it'd been a genuine accident. When they finished with him, Damon was informed that his duty schedule had been cleared for the week and advised to go home and stay out of trouble. Having dealt with Maxil's volatile temper far too many times in the past several hours already, he left the security compound without further complaint.

On his way back to his quarters, Damon considered his next actions. The investigators had interrupted his search of the Matrix for the information he'd been tasked with researching and now he had no way of continuing until they allowed him to return to work. And though they'd been successful in preventing the Doctor's execution by using the chameleon arch, the security guarding his ship had been increased as a result. Damon had no way of sneaking in to install the fresh space-time element he'd procured for him; he'd need the cooperation of someone on the Guard to get access to the TARDIS.

A fragment of a conversation he'd had earlier flickered through his mind and it occurred to Damon that perhaps he _did_ know someone who might be able to help. With a furtive glance behind him to be certain that he wasn't being followed, he hurried off in search of this potential ally.

—

The Doctor and Nyssa might have slept several hours, secure in the unconscious knowledge of each other's presence, had such a luxury been afforded them. Unfortunately, what Gallifreyan society considered acceptable hours for social calls were not particularly accommodating to Trakenite biorhythms; fewer than three hours passed before a door chime disrupted the peaceful silence of their bed chamber. They both stirred reluctantly at the sound, but neither woke immediately.

Awareness returned gradually for the Doctor, tempered by a strong desire to remain blissfully unaffected by the rest of the universe for a little while longer. Nyssa lay pressed against his side, head resting on his shoulder, left arm curled possessively around his waist, steady heartbeat matching his own. Her soft curls fluttered on his chest with every exhaled breath. Shifting slightly to free his arm from the bedclothes, he trailed a hand gently over the smooth skin of her back and down her hip, smiling drowsily at the contented hum she made. His fingertips prickled pleasantly in response to the empathic echo that accompanied the action.

Whatever the consequences might be later, he couldn't regret what they'd done just yet. Her presence in his arms felt surprisingly right, as though a long-missing piece had been slotted back into his life unexpectedly. Whether that was due to the influence of powerful hormones acting on his brain chemistry or the reemergence of repressed sentiment, he didn't think the feeling would last; guilt or worry would catch up with him eventually. Perfect moments were so few and far between in his hectic life; he wanted to savour this one for as long as he could. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and allowed himself to imagine making this a regular occurrence.

Lulled by the comfortable bed and soothing embrace of his companion, the Doctor nearly drifted off again, only to be interrupted by the return of the musical chime. He frowned and muttered disapprovingly at it without opening his eyes. In his groggy condition, the significance of the sound didn't register in his mind until he heard a faintly familiar voice call out his name from the other room.

Startled into actual alertness, he sat up quickly, only to be reminded of the compromising nature of the position they were in. In their post-coital bliss, neither of them had spared a thought for the morning after, when the council finally elected to speak with them again and inevitably came calling. Were anyone to walk in on them right now, it would take very little imagination to guess how they'd spent their downtime, even a Time Lord of the High Council might manage it. His creative escape from execution was already making the rounds as the hot topic of conversation on Gallifrey; the Doctor didn't particularly want his private affairs adding to the Capitol gossip.

“Be with you in just a moment,” he called to their visitor through the – thankfully closed – bedroom door. Disturbed by the sudden intrusion on their little bubble of privacy as well, Nyssa clutched at the blanket half-draped across their hips, pulling it up to cover herself reflexively.

Groping blindly at the wall for the button to switch on the light, the Doctor scrambled off of the bed in search of their clothes, which had ended up scattered about the room. Handing her the pair of velvet trousers he'd retrieved from the floor, he whispered to Nyssa that she could retreat to the bathroom while he dealt with their unexpected guest. She nodded and slipped past him as he struggled to pull on his trousers and shirt as swiftly as possible, not doing too neat of a job of it. Fortunately, the cricket jumper was thick enough to hide the worst of the wrinkles and missed buttons, and he had actually bothered to hang up his coat before retiring, so that wasn't rumpled at least. Finally, after a few deliberate swipes at his mussed hair in a futile attempt to tame it, he decided he was probably presentable enough face company.

He sighed and made for the door reluctantly. Behind him, he could hear the snap, hiss of the shower in the bathroom activating.

At his touch, the circular door slid open to reveal a stately figure wearing the scarlet robes and skull cap of an Academy instructor loitering in the entryway of the apartment. The man with rather distinguished facial hair was regarding an abstract sculpture that bore a superficial resemblance to an ill-conceived hat rack with a faint air of contemplation. The Doctor groaned internally, recognising him.

“Ah, the prodigal emerges at last!” the man greeted him cheerfully, stepping forward. "I've interrupted your beauty sleep, I see."

“Braxiatel,” the Doctor replied, not nearly as pleased to see him. “What are you doing here?”

“Come, come, is that any way to say hello, after all this time?” the Time Lord asked, with mock disapproval.

The Doctor crossed his arms and raised an incredulous eyebrow, waiting for an actual answer to his question.

His visitor shook his head in disappointment and explained himself with a sigh. “Your return to Gallifrey has created quite a stir in certain circles. Naturally, as family, I felt it my duty to investigate some of the more outlandish claims against you. And who better to shed some light on these matters than the man himself?” He smiled as though this ought to have been obvious. The Doctor's dubious expression didn't change; he had ample reason to be wary of Braxietel's motives, his brother was not the sort to act purely out of selfless concern.

Braxiatel circled him slowly, giving him an appraising look that was not unlike a farmer inspecting fresh livestock. “You really did it, didn't you? You've made yourself one of them. If it weren't for that embarrassment of a temporal signature, I'd scarcely recognize you like this.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Absolutely fascinating. Did it hurt much?”

“Irving...” the Doctor began, irritated. He, of all people, had no business commenting on the state of anyone's timelines.

Brax wasn't listening to him. He tapped a finger against his lips, not finished with his evaluation. “I see you've regenerated into a more youthful body this time; I expect that comes in handy with all the running. Though, honestly, what number is this now, five? You're burning through them rather quickly."

The Doctor frowned; he wasn't in the mood for a lecture about how he spent his lives. "Haven't you any students in need of tutoring?" he asked grumpily. "I'd hate to think I'm keeping you from them."

Undetered, Brax had already moved on to another subject. "So where is she, this young companion of yours, Nyssa of Traken?” He glanced inquiringly at the doorway behind the Doctor. “Did she really give the High Council a ten microspan lecture on morality?”

The Doctor hadn't heard about that, though it sounded like something Nyssa might do; he kept himself from turning around to mirror his brother's curiosity, but only just. 

“She'll be along shortly. Her people require more sleep than Gallifreyans and you did drop by unannounced; I imagine she's still getting freshened up. And I don't know, she may have. I wasn't there; I was busy being dragged off to await my death warrant.” The thought of her speaking out against the High Council in his defense made him feel strangely pleased, even if it was a dangerous thing for her to do. Some of that must have shown in his expression.

Blue eyes flicked from his face to the closed door and back again. “Ahhhh,” Braxiatel said, drawing out the sound and smirking as though he'd just solved a difficult riddle. 

The Doctor did his best not to react to the burst of smug satisfaction he sensed and went over to the kitchen to extract a cup of strong tea from the hacked food machine. The benefits of a mild stimulant like caffeine appealed to his tired mind at the moment and it might make dealing with Brax a little easier to tolerate. 

“I must admit, I wasn't expecting _that_ rumour to have any truth to it. Well, then.”

“What rumour?” The Doctor regretted asking the question as soon as he spoke. He could feel the amusement radiating from the other man in response.

Brax smiled serenely. "Just a whisper or two. Nothing to worry yourself about." He was being infuriatingly coy. "What you do in the privacy of your TARDIS is your own business, anyway."

The Doctor felt himself redden at the implication. He set down his cup and saucer with a clatter. "Now just one minute..."

—

Alone in the small bathroom, Nyssa stood under a warm spray of water, reflecting on the unexpected shift that had taken place in her relationship with the Doctor. A line had been crossed that they'd never even approached before and she didn't know what this would mean for them going forward. Though she'd enjoyed the experience immensely, she wasn't certain what she wanted now.

Nothing she'd learned about courtship and romance on Traken or in her subsequent travels really addressed the unlikely situation in which one's lover was not simply your best friend, but also a centuries-old Time Lord whose expected life span vastly outstripped your own. Her brief relationship with Andrew had been too dissimilar to be of particular use comparatively. Nor did she imagine the Doctor had any better idea of what they were doing.

Absent his distracting presence, she could consider the situation dispassionately and worried that perhaps she'd been too hasty to dismiss his concerns about miscommunication and disparate expectations. She'd meant what she had said to him in the moment, that this wouldn't endanger their friendship, but hadn't really considered how such an arrangement might work on a practical basis. She didn't necessarily want much to change between them. They already functioned so well together as a team. Would it work to carry on as they always had, except instead of retiring to separate beds at the end of the day, they'd share?

Even if they sorted out the logistics, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't regret his decision given more time to consider it. And even if he didn't, his feelings towards engaging in sexual activity might change once he was back to his Gallifreyan form and no longer under the influence of Trakenite hormones or their empathic connection. Intellectually, she was prepared for the possibility that what had happened between them would never be repeated, but the thought of it made her sad.

The casual affection he'd shown to her before the rush to get dressed had been encouraging for the short term at least. If nothing else, she should be confident that this was the Doctor, and he'd already proven on many occasions that he cared for her. If the new, more physical aspects of their relationship were not continued, they would still have one another's companionship in every other way.

In a contemplative mood still, Nyssa stepped out of the shower carefully and allowed the automatic air jets in the ceiling to dry her off. Then she retrieved her clothes from the garment refresher on the wall and set about getting dressed quickly. She was curious to meet their early visitor.

—

When Nyssa joined the Doctor and Braxiatel in the other room, she found them conferring in the kitchenette over matching cups of tea. The Doctor seemed a trifle flushed and agitated by their conversation, but she couldn't tell yet whether it was because of the subject being discussed, the person he was discussing it with, or something else.

The Doctor stood to introduce her as she approached. “Ah, Nyssa, I was just explaining to Brax the particulars of this mystery we have on our hands.” He gestured to the lanky Time Lord who rose from his seat to greet her formally. “Nyssa of Traken, this is Cardinal Braxiatel... my brother.”

Brax bent charmingly and took her hand. “Delighted, my dear. Tales of your exploits are already running rampant in the Capitol, but I fear they failed to convey your loveliness, a glaring omission I shall have to remedy at nearest opportunity.” 

Nyssa smiled and thanked him politely, allowing Braxiatel to guide her to a seat at the table. The Doctor tried and failed to resist the urge to glower at his brother's solicitousness behind his back. Feeling faintly foolish for allowing something so inconsequential to irritate him, he prepared another cup of tea just how Nyssa liked it and set it before her. She acknowledged the drink with a sweet smile and he found himself returning to his seat wearing a pleased look of his own.

Witnessing this exchange, Braxiatel smirked into his teacup.

With a glance at the Doctor first to verify that this was the direction he intended to take the discussion, Nyssa spoke directly to the issue at hand. "It's imperative that we identify the source of the biodata leak as soon as possible. Whoever is responsible took an enormous risk to transmit that information to a dangerous creature and very nearly got the Doctor killed to further their ends. Who knows what else they might be capable of. Is there anything you can do to help us, Cardinal?"

Brax appeared to be moderately impressed. "My dear, you have highlighted the problem most succinctly. I will of course do all that I can to assist you in locating this traitor, but it will not be easy. I'll need to tread carefully to avoid arousing suspicion or endangering my own position. Fortunately, some of my talents lie in subterfuge and information-gathering." He smiled. "If any of the members of the High Council have been acting strangely recently, I'll soon hear of it."

"This isn't simply a matter of political gamesmanship, Brax. The security of the Matrix is at risk, not to mention the fate of the entire universe should the antimatter entity be allowed to fully infiltrate our reality." The Doctor's voice carried a note of the desperate urgency he felt the situation warranted.

"My dear little brother," Braxiatel assured him coolly, "how you ever managed to ascend to the Presidency with that level of political ineptitude is beyond me. Of course this is about politics. I guarantee that if we discover who had the motive and means to make a play for control of the Matrix, we'll find your culprit. I doubt very much that the antimatter threat is anything more than a distraction aimed at diverting our attention away from this person until they've made their move."

Braxiatel stood and smoothed his robes. "However, as you say, time is rather of the essence at the moment, so I shall take my leave of you and begin my discreet inquiries immediately. If I find anything to narrow our suspect list, I shall let you know at once." He bowed to Nyssa. "My lady." And made his exit.

The Doctor sighed heavily as the door slid closed, leaving them alone in the diplomatic apartment once more. Nyssa watched him fidget unhappily with his tea cup for a moment before speaking up.

"You've never mentioned having a brother," she began, conversationally, "strangely, I can almost see the family resemblance." The Doctor looked at her incredulously and she continued. "I thought he was rather charming," she teased, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"That's what he'd like you to think," he huffed and hunched his shoulders as he sipped at his tea. She smiled and put a hand over his on the table, stroking his knuckles with her thumb. His expression softened and he met her eyes.

"Perhaps he'll be able to uncover something useful though; you said it yourself that it's been a while since you were on Gallifrey. Having someone we can trust who knows the players is a valuable asset if we're to have any hope of exposing this person."

"That's the trouble," he said with a shake of his head. "I'm never entirely certain I _can_ trust him. Oh, he'll help us, we can be sure of that, it's just that somewhere down the line, I know I'm going to end up paying for this somehow."

Nyssa squeezed his hand understandingly, transmitting feelings of comfort to him through their empathic link. As an only child, the complexities of sibling relationships were a bit foreign to her, but she knew the dance of political give and take all too well. Sometimes one was required by circumstance to make alliances out of expedience that were less than desirable otherwise.

The Doctor lifted their joined hands to press a light kiss to her fingers before returning her hand to the cool tabletop. He seemed to be working up the courage to say something, but stalled on deciding what it was he wanted to convey. Taking pity on him, Nyssa broke the silence instead.

"Last night was a wonderful surprise, Doctor, and I want you to know that I don't regret a single moment of it, but if you feel differently, we can forget it, pretend it never happened. I'd hate for this to create distance between us; I value our friendship far too much."

Seconds trickled by as the Doctor contemplated his answer. This was his opportunity to retreat gracefully if he wanted it. Fully clothed and allegedly in control of his emotional responses, he ought to have been able to distance himself from the situation sufficiently to make a rational decision, if only his mind would cooperate. Instead, he kept thinking about how it had felt to wake up with her at his side. Finally, in a low voice barely above a whisper, he admitted, "I don't want to forget it happened."

Before he could say more or move to kiss her, which seemed like an appropriate method of convincing her of his earnestness, they were interrupted by the door chime sounding once again.

Rising unsteadily to answer the summons, the Doctor could feel Nyssa's eyes following him across the room. When this ordeal was over, they would have to talk, but for now he was secretly grateful for the reprieve. His natural reticence when it came to discussing matters of the heart had not been changed overnight; and if anything, the introduction of incontrovertible evidence of his true feelings towards her made the situation more awkward.

To the Doctor's surprise, instead of a disgruntled emissary from the High Council waiting on the other side of the door, he found three familiar faces. Damon, Leela, and Andred stood beside the two members of the Guard tasked with confining him to quarters. Damon and Andred looked serious while Leela wore an expression of unmasked curiosity.

"Doctor," Damon greeted him, "may we have a word?"

The Doctor nodded and stepped back to allow them inside.

As the door closed, the two guards did a poor job of disguising their interest in what Commander Andred wanted with the rebel Time Lord. His unlikely marriage to the savage woman that the Doctor had brought to Gallifrey had long been the subject of discussion amongst his subordinates. A few had even begun to secretly wonder if they too might have better luck finding happiness with an off-worlder. The shorter of the pair had noted with interest how beautiful the Doctor's _new_ companion was and peered inside the apartment, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. Unfortunately, his view was swiftly cut off by the closing door, so he resumed his vigil with a disappointed sigh. 

Once their relative privacy had been restored, Leela was the first to speak, approaching the Doctor and looking him up and down. "You have changed greatly since we last met, Doctor. Andred has explained regeneration to me, but I still find it difficult to believe, even seeing it with my own eyes." She examined his face closely, as if searching for something. "You are much younger now; is that not strange?"

The Doctor looked uncomfortable. In contrast, his former companion had changed very little, evidently having resisted the pressures of Gallifreyan society to adhere to their more conservative modes of dress. "Exceedingly. I wasn't given much choice in the matter though," he said with a tight smile.

She accepted his answer with a perceptive nod and didn't press him further. Nyssa had joined the group, slipping into their loose circle to stand near the Doctor. Leela looked at her next and smiled; she introduced herself, "I am Leela and this is Andred, my husband. It is good to meet you, friend of the Doctor." Andred inclined his head politely in greeting as well and Nyssa replied in kind with her own name. 

"Damon said you had changed yourself further, to stop a great injustice," the human woman continued, addressing the Doctor once more. "I did not understand what he meant until now." Her voice became almost wry as she glanced at Nyssa briefly. She nodded approvingly. "It is good that you have found a mate; a warrior is stronger when he or she has a partner to watch over them." Leela stepped back to take Andred's hand while the Doctor, embarrassed and mystified as to what possible evidence could have lead her to that conclusion, floundered for a reply.

Accustomed to his wife's blunt nature by now, Andred reacted with only mild surprise to her pronouncement and the Doctor and Nyssa's mutually pink-tinged faces. Their stammered denials, delivered too late to be convincing, revealed a great deal.

From what Leela had shared with him about her adventures in his company, he'd hardly have pegged the Doctor as the sort to take up with one of his companions, despite the numerous rumours to that effect circulating the Capitol. But then again, he'd never have thought _himself_ capable of such acts or feelings prior to meeting Leela. Perhaps the biggest change the Doctor's latest regeneration had wrought was to his personality.

Damon, however, had known the Doctor much longer and appeared somewhat stunned by this information. He kept glancing between their incriminating expressions in disbelief.

Eager to steer the conversation back to more important topics than the precise nature of his relationship with Nyssa, the Doctor cleared his throat loudly and addressed Damon in a dignified tone. "Were you able to discover any new information since our last conversation?"

Damon nodded and lowered his voice cautiously. "I believe my colleague Talor was murdered." He described the alleged circumstances of Talor's death and what he knew about the ongoing investigation. Andred supplied the few details he had access to via his position in the Chancellery Guard, which were regrettably limited by the fact that it was not his case. He was able to confirm their general reluctance to classify the technician's death as criminal.

The Doctor was beginning to suspect that Braxiatel had been correct when he'd suggested their solution lay in tracing the political motives. This whole situation seemed mired in the twisted backroom threads of Gallifrey's highly insular system of governance. Whomever they were dealing with had been clever enough to gain a position on the High Council, but was either too inexperienced or too arrogant to stage a proper cover-up for the suspicious death. Talor's murder was an important clue to the traitor's identity, he felt, if only he could work out how to put this information to use. He shared his thoughts with the others.

It was Leela who asked the critical question. "If this traitor seeks to steal control of the Matrix, who has control of it now?"

"No one has complete control over it," Damon answered, "without myself, Talor, or the other technicians on duty, only current members of the High Council have unlimited data access, and even they are subject to certain security restrictions." He frowned suddenly. "Unless you count the Lord President - Borusa holds the Crown of Rassilon as part of his office. He's the only person who can enter the Matrix at any time."

The Doctor and Nyssa traded a knowing look between them. "If I were planning to seize control over the Matrix, that crown would be my primary target," Nyssa voiced the thought they'd both shared.

"How secure is the crown right now?" the Doctor asked Andred. His own presidency had been far too brief to get into the details of how the various articles of office were kept. It was usually on display in the High Council chambers or stored in the Presidential offices, he thought.

"The Lord President has his own personal Guard assignment and the Chambers always have at least two Chancellery Guards on the door. No one but his fellow councillors have access to him," Andred replied. "All off-world transmissions are being closely monitored at the moment as well."

"We believe this person is a member of the council though," Nyssa pointed out. "What good are Guards standing outside if our target seems above suspicion? They might allow the traitor to simply walk right past them. One man has already been killed."

"We still don't know what their plan would've been had I not managed to avoid that execution. Were you able to research any of the information about power equipment before Maxil's men spoke with you?" the Doctor asked Damon.

Damon shook his head. "No, I was too busy assembling the space-time element. Thankfully, with Andred's help I _was_ able to get that installed for you."

"What has power equipment got to do with all this?" Andred asked.

"It was merely a hunch," the Doctor said with a shrug, "if one were attempting to mount an attack on the Matrix, the best way to do that would be from the inside. Gallifrey's 'humane' execution method uses an incredible amount of power; with the right equipment, it might just be possible to hijack that power and use it to hack the carrier signal at the moment when a soon-to-be-deceased Time Lord's mind is uploaded into the Matrix."

Nyssa turned on the Doctor, grey eyes blazing. "Doctor! You said you didn't believe they'd actually let you die."

The Doctor grimaced, receiving the full brunt of her anger with him via his new empathic receptors. "It was only a possibility; I didn't want to worry you. My actual death wouldn't have been strictly necessary, merely the upload carrier signal and power surge. I thought the need for my biodata would force them to spare my life."

Her hard expression didn't soften until he apologised, then she sighed and shook her head. It seemed to be a fundamental flaw in his character that the Doctor was constantly shouldering grave dangers for the sake of others without appreciating the risks to himself or at least understanding that they were not his sole responsibility to bear. The selfless, stubborn idiot.

Leela spoke up again. "If we wish to catch this Time Lord, we must be wise hunters, make our prey come to us."

"Set a trap, you mean?" Andred questioned his wife.

"Yes. The thirsty animal must go to the water to drink eventually. That is where we will find them," she said.

"The crown is our watering hole," elaborated the Doctor, grasping her meaning. "We just need to make them thirsty enough to go for a drink."

"We've already put pressure on them by saving you with the chameleon arch, and the antimatter entity's shielding must surely have begun to degrade by now," Nyssa noted. "What more can we do?" The question hung in the air for a few moments as they all considered the dire implications of what she'd said.

"We must speak with Borusa immediately," the Doctor concluded and looked to Andred. "Can you take us to him?"

Andred straightened his uniform and gave the Doctor a resigned look. "I'll be hearing about this from the Castellan for ages, but seeing as it's a matter of the utmost urgency, yes, let's go." He led them out of the diplomatic quarters and ordered the Guards to accompany them in escorting the Doctor and his companion to an audience with the Lord President. They complied obediently, joining the party.

They arrived at the Council's chambers in what proved to be the nick of time. The stately doors opened to reveal Councillor Hedin being held at staser-point by the Lord President himself.

Hedin jerked his head up at the sound of their arrival; he seemed supremely relieved to see them. "Thank goodness you're here!" he exclaimed. "The Lord President's gone mad!"


	4. Part Four

"It is Hedin who has betrayed us," countered the Lord President. "He forced his way into my chambers with some preposterous story and demanded that I surrender my articles of office to him when I refused to accede to his requests!"

Hedin looked properly scandalised by this proclamation, and turned to appeal to their shared audience. "You see? Hysterical fabrications of a damaged mind! I came to visit the Lord President in his chambers, it's true, but when I questioned him regarding the search for the person responsible for the transmission of the Doctor's biodata, he became agitated and threatened my life."

Four of the five Chancellery Guards present drew their weapons and held them nervously at the ready, unsure of which man to trust. Andred alone kept his staser holstered, preferring to assess the situation before introducing another firearm to the mix. Leela stood warily at his side, the knife she normally carried in her boot held low in her hand.

"Summon the Castellan," Commander Andred ordered one of the Guards. The man left to do so quickly, privately relieved to be given an excuse to exit the room. He did not want to be responsible for accidentally getting the Lord President killed.

Andred stepped forward deferentially. "Lord President, we have the councillor surrounded; it's safe for you to lower your staser."

The elderly Time Lord wilted slightly and wearily dropped his arm, glowering at Hedin's serenely unperturbed expression as he did so. Andred moved closer, intending to take the weapon from him.

The tense scene might have ended peaceably, then and there, had they not been interrupted by the arrival of the Castellan with a handful of additional Guards, including Commander Maxil. The chief Gallifreyan policeman had already been on his way when Andred gave the order to send for him, and he came bristling with new information concerning the data breech.

"Lord President, I'm placing you under arrest," he announced imperiously to the stunned group.

"On what grounds?" asked the Doctor, mere seconds ahead of the Lord President and Andred's echoes of the same question.

"High Treason. I've been over the Matrix security logs myself since last night; there's no question about it, the Doctor's biodata _was_ transmitted from Gallifrey, using the Lord President's authorisation codes!"

"That's preposterous!" Borusa bellowed, eyes flashing dangerously, a reminder that the old politician could still be a formidable figure when properly motivated. "It was Hedin, I say! He's as much as admitted the thing to me before you arrived!"

Hedin gave the Time Lord President a pitying look and shook his head slowly, as if he couldn't understand why his friend would accuse him of such crimes.

It was not lost on any of his very attentive audience that due to the disruption caused by the Castellan's arrival, the Lord President had retained control of the staser that he'd been holding Hedin captive with just a minute earlier. Borusa, however, was not as mindful of this fact, or rather the significance of it, and kept waving the weapon about carelessly as he continued to proclaim his innocence. The nervous energy in the room climbed to levels that had the two Trakenites gritting their teeth against the onslaught of emotional feedback and nearly everyone else sweating under their collars.

"Pardon me, Lord President, but how did you and Councillor Hedin come to be in the main Council chamber, I thought you said he'd accosted you in your private offices?" Nyssa's unexpected question silenced the Time Lord's outburst. He drew himself up, reasserting his dignity visibly.

"My dear, he wanted me to charge the transduction field, isolating the Matrix master control; I couldn't possibly do that! Access to the Matrix is guaranteed; only the gravest emergency would warrant such an act. When I refused him, he pushed past me, intent on doing it himself. I had to take action."

Hedin's reaction was again to appear suitably dismayed. "Quite the opposite in fact, I came in here to escape the Lord President when he became inexplicably belligerent. He followed, producing that staser to force me to remain."

Leela, who all this time had been watching the two men argue very carefully, spoke up. "You are lying," she announced firmly, eyes narrowed at Hedin. All attention in the room focused on her briefly before turning back to Hedin to catch his reaction.

The orange robed Time Lord stiffened noticeably, and he affected a wide-eyed expression of outrage at her accusation. "I most certainly am not!" he exclaimed. "You've got the evidence of Borusa’s treasonous acts already; what further proof do you need?" While he spoke, he took a few hurried steps away from Leela, who had raised her blade and adopted a posture which indicated she was prepared to use it if necessary. The move put him nearest to the Castellan, to whom he addressed his question pleadingly.

The Castellan, who was rapidly beginning to feel he was being made to look a fool, but was unclear as to exactly whom was responsible, was irritated by this display. He had sufficient cause to make an arrest and despite the surplus of Chancellery Guards present, they were still just standing here arguing about it. “This is all fascinating, I’m sure, but this discussion can wait until the tribunal has been called. The Inquisitor will be more than willing to hear your explanations at length. Lord President, I shall have to ask you to surrender your weapon and -”

“She’s right though,” the Doctor interrupted him, sounding very grave. His gaze had never wavered from Hedin’s face since Leela had spoken.

Exasperated, the Castellan rounded on him. “Doctor. I would think you, of all people, should be pleased to see the guilty party brought to justice. After all, it was your life which was nearly forfeit. What possible grounds do you have to support this claim?”

The Doctor’s expression became uncomfortable. How to explain to a roomful of Time Lords that he’d sensed his former friend’s deception via borrowed empathic abilities? He hardly wanted to believe that the traitor could be Hedin, but he was as sure as he’d ever been that the man was hiding something. 

"I have the utmost faith in Leela's powers of observation," he stated confidently. "And, as you may recall, my biology has been temporarily reconfigured; I could sense for myself, as I'm sure Nyssa can confirm, that Councillor Hedin has not been honest with his replies.” He regarded the councillor with disappointment in his eyes. “Why, Hedin? I've always considered you a friend.”

Caught and exposed, with little recourse left to him if there was to be any hope of success for his plans, Hedin lunged suddenly, seizing the Castellan from behind and using the startled Time Lord’s own weapon against him. “You’ve left me with no alternative, nothing must interfere with transfer,” he said breathlessly, pressing the staser against the Castellan’s throat. His hostage squawked indignantly. “Cooperate or I shall be forced to kill you,” he warned and the captive Gallifreyan ceased his protests.

All of the assembled Chancellery Guards now had their stasers firmly pointed at the pair, but Hedin wisely kept the Castellan between himself and the guards as a shield. 

“There can be no transfer; the creature hasn’t a valid biosignature to lock on to,” the Doctor said logically. 

Hedin dismissed this concern casually. “Your unorthodox use of that antiquated technology did present an added difficulty, I’ll admit, but not an insurmountable one; yours is hardly the only biodata available within the Matrix.”

The Doctor shook his head. “Give it up, Hedin. You’re only making things worse for yourself by doing this. Help us locate this creature so that we can stop it before any further damage is done.”

“You don’t understand. This is no alien creature, it’s one of us! A Time Lord, the first and greatest of our people. The one who sacrificed all to give us mastery of time and was shamefully abandoned in return!” Hedin’s voice rose with the devoted admiration of a religious zealot.

“Omega?” The Doctor and Borusa uttered the name in near-unison.

“Omega!” The word was said triumphantly.

“But he died - I was there myself the last time he attempted to return to our universe.” There’d been barely anything of him left even then, the Doctor recalled.

“No, he exists, and wants only to live amongst us again. And with the power of the Matrix at his command, he shall have his wish soon.”

“Omega is insane. You cannot mean to give him control of the Matrix; he’ll destroy us all,” the Doctor replied.

Hedin was too committed to his cause to listen to reason. “The power he brings is for the good of all, you’ll see. For too long we’ve allowed ourselves to remain stagnant, squabbling amongst ourselves over petty things like children, aloof from the rest of the universe. Omega will return Gallifrey to her former glory.”

Borusa spoke as if addressing a disobedient student. “Listen to yourself, Hedin. Omega is dangerous. Even if he weren’t, the Matrix is far too powerful to entrust to any one being, no matter how significant their contributions might have been to our history.”

Hedin laughed, but the sound was not a happy one. “Enough talk. There’s work to be done. Castellan, order your men to stand down.” Reluctantly, the Castellan did as he was told and the guards lowered their weapons. “Lord President, if you would bring the Crown and accompany me? Leave the staser.” His tone might have been pleasant in other circumstances. Hedin began backing out of the room, toward the rear entrance which lead directly to the President’s official chambers. Borusa handed his weapon to Commander Andred and followed with the requested device.

“Any attempt at interference, and I will not hesitate to kill them both. Harm me, and you’ll also be putting your own lives in peril.” Hedin made the threat just as the doors swept closed.

The stunned silence that fell over the chamber lasted only a moment before Maxil began issuing orders to everyone present, preparing to do exactly what Hedin had warned would result in dire consequences. Andred stepped in and asserted his authority to stop the other man from making a mistake. 

“I wasn’t aware that you were assigned to Executive Sector at this time,” Maxil sneered, irritated at the encroachment of what he considered his territory. They were of equal rank, though technically Andred did have seniority, if it came to it.

“Oh for Rassilon’s sake, stow it, Maxil. We haven’t time for a pissing match over who’s in charge here. I’m sure before this is over, there will be enough tarnish to sully everyone’s armour; and when the hammer blow comes, you’ll be glad not to be the only man standing at the top.”

Maxil glowered, but couldn’t argue that point. “What do you suggest we do then, _Commander_? While we argue, the Lord President and the Castellan are alone with a madman.”

Andred stepped closer to the other Guardsman. “We need to protect them, and secure the Matrix, but we need Hedin alive…”

While this heated conversation was taking place, the Doctor had turned to Damon. “If we could get to the Matrix computer room in time, do you think we could lock out access to the biodata archives from there?”

“We’d need the presidential access codes to do that, and even then, I’m not sure; he has Borusa with him,” Damon replied.

“We’ll have to hope they haven’t changed them all since my brief tenure then, won’t we?” The Doctor flashed a dangerous grin. “Come on, quickly!” He made for the door.

“What about the hostages?” Nyssa asked, looking over her shoulder worriedly.

“I trust Andred has the rescue operation well in hand; and he has Leela with him,” he answered. “If we don’t act swiftly, it may not matter whether they’re able to save them and capture Hedin. If Omega seizes control of the Matrix, we’re all in serious trouble.”

—

“Try it now.”

The Doctor input another sequence on the keypad. The computer terminal chirped and data began scrolling across the monitor.

“That’s it!” Damon cheered and hurried to begin implementing lock out commands. The procedure was routine enough for an experienced technician like himself, but the high stakes situation made him nervous of forgetting something critical. “Alright. I need you to enter the code again, please.” The Doctor complied and, after tapping a few more keys, Damon breathed a sigh of relief when a confirmation of his request appeared on the screen.

“I’ve no idea if we were fast enough, but I’ve reset the master code for that archive. It’s not impossible to break the encryption, but it should take longer than Omega has to do so,” he said, pleased with himself.

“Good work,” the Doctor meant the compliment sincerely, though his voice sounded distracted. He was busy checking the database for further evidence of Hedin’s clandestine affairs that might offer them a clue as to Omega’s whereabouts. Without the Crown, there was little they could do to block access to the Matrix entirely; they just had to hope the physical intervention taking place in the Lord President’s chambers was successful. Nyssa stood at his elbow, watching an adjacent monitor for off-world transmission traffic, and growing more concerned.

“Doctor,” she said warningly as there was a sudden spike in activity on the screen.

He raised his head from a rather interesting shipping manifest he’d located to see what had roused her attention. “No,” he breathed and nearly swore as all of the screens in the room cleared and were filled with a single image - that of a sinister helmeted figure in black and gold. “We’re too late. Omega has control of the Matrix.”

—

It is not a widely advertised fact, but for security reasons, several important offices in the Citadel had multiple non-public entrances. The Lord President’s office was no exception to this rule and it was via one of these undisclosed passageways that the Chancellery Guards staged their attack. Wearing protective filter masks and infrared lenses, they waited until the power could be disrupted to the lights before opening the door, tossing in a canister of a mild chemical irritant, and pouring into the room after it. 

The altercation which resulted was not executed as cleanly as desired. Though Andred had insisted on non-lethal staser settings to ensure the safety of the hostages as well as the only person with definite knowledge of the whereabouts of Omega, there was, of course, a limit to how many “non-lethal” blasts a Gallifreyan body could withstand and at least one lethally-tuned weapon in play. In the scrum, it was hard to say how exactly it happened, but when the lights came up again, Hedin lie on the ground, unconscious and twitching with regeneration energy. 

Borusa and the Castellan were hastily evacuated to the Council Chamber while Hedin’s body rearranged and restored itself. His new form was hardly given an opportunity to settle before the Time Lord was hoisted up and dragged roughly out of the office to endure the remainder of his regeneration sickness in a security cell. Maxil escorted him personally. 

In the Council Chamber, Borusa refused all offers of medical treatment, despite his streaming eyes and shaky limbs, insisting that he be given the Crown that Hedin had stolen. “Omega must be stopped!” he kept repeating until Andred brought him the artefact. “I shall do what I can to keep him distracted,” the elderly Time Lord said, voice clear with authority. “We must locate him before he is able to attempt transference. See that the remainder of the Council are informed.”

Andred turned to his wife, who had been permitted to supervise, but not participate in, the raid. She’d been annoyed by the decision but understood the need to limit the number of combatants in the small room to those best trained with the equipment they would be using. Leela had for some time served as an instructor in unarmed combat techniques at the Chancellery Guard Academy, but had never grown comfortable with energy weapons. “Leela, I need you to find the Doctor and tell him what has happened. I must see to matters here.” She nodded and left him to the task of finding another guard to relay the Lord President’s message to the other councillors.

—

When the messenger arrived, Chancellor Thalia had only just bid goodbye to the clever junior cardinal who had generously offered a few well-placed pieces of information and demurred politely when she’d inquired as to their source and price. Thanks to this advance warning, she was already gathering her prototype and tools. The elegantly robed Time Lady nodded knowingly as the panting Guardswoman delivered the news in succinct bullet points. 

“Have Hedin’s private quarters been searched yet?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” the guard answered her. “The investigation is ongoing.” The standard reply of the trained law enforcement officer came easily to her lips.

“Take me there. We haven’t much time,” Thalia’s demeanour made it clear that this was not merely a request, but an order.

—

The Doctor was pacing the floor of the computer room, while Damon laboured over one of the terminals, trying everything he could think of to wrest control of the system away from Omega. Nyssa and Leela watched the Doctor; all three of them attempting to piece together the meagre clues they’d accumulated as to Omega’s whereabouts. Before his access had been revoked, the Doctor had located in the archives a record of an experimental fusion booster element being transported off Gallifrey just prior to his scheduled execution, which seemed to be their best evidence so far. Borusa’s authorisation codes had been used to authorize it.

“Why Earth, of all places?” the Doctor wondered aloud. “Surely there were plenty of other sources of liquid water closer to the Arc of Infinity than Earth.”

“Perhaps it’s something to do with Omega’s attempt to bond with you,” Nyssa suggested. “He wasn’t able to complete the process, but might it be possible that his brief contact with your mind influenced his choice of planet? You are very fond of Earth.”

The Doctor paused mid-step and raised an eyebrow at her. It was hardly the least plausible theory any of them had proffered thus far though. He sighed. “I’m afraid if you’re right, that doesn’t really help us narrow it down to a particular location.”

Their conference was interrupted by the noisy arrival of the Castellan, accompanied by Chancellor Thalia. The pair of councillors were arguing as they walked in.

“You’ve no guarantee that what you’re suggesting will work,” the Castellan was saying.

“We can’t afford to wait to see if Borusa can overpower him,” she replied. “The magnetism shielding his antimatter signature will have decayed to the point that we ought to be able to locate his ship, but that means he’s also dangerously close to losing containment. Transference is Omega’s only option at this point. We must prevent that.” 

She turned her attention to the other occupants of the computer room. “Omega has managed to charge the transduction barrier, isolating Gallifrey and the Matrix from any outside influence, save his own. Thanks to your remarkable solution to the bonding quandary which bought us valuable time, I’ve had several spans to work on a method of tracking the antimatter creature. I believe the device I’ve designed will reveal his location, but it needs to be outside the barrier to operate. How many of the Matrix subsystems were you able to sequester before the incursion?”

“Only the biodata archives, I’m afraid,” Damon answered. “It’s not clear from the logs whether Hedin was able to transmit anything before we secured it though.”

The Doctor addressed the Castellan. “You were in there with Hedin; do you know if he did?”

The Castellan shook his head. “I don’t think so. He said he planned to offer up another renegade as an alternative to your corrupted biodata, Doctor, but his priority seemed to be giving Omega access to the master controls. Having to relay instructions to the Lord President rather than enter the Matrix himself slowed the process considerably.” His tone was more acid than usual; he was feeling rather savage toward Omega and his conspirator Councillor Hedin at the moment. The post of Castellan was an elected position; once the story of his capture became public knowledge, he’d be lucky to retain his seat against an even mildly competent challenger. He was lucky the man most likely to try to unseat him had been there as well, and was just as guilty of allowing the Lord President to be taken hostage in front of several Guardsmen as he was. 

Thalia’s expression grew more concerned. “All the more reason for haste. If Omega cannot achieve transference safely, he’ll become unstable. We must act immediately.” She glared pointedly at the Castellan, who seemed to understand what the look meant. 

He frowned back at her and then turned to Damon.

“We’re going to need to get a TARDIS through the barrier undetected. Have you tried the emergency bypass procedures yet?” he asked.

“That was the first thing I tested when the terminals froze. Omega has cut us off,” Damon replied. “Anything beyond read-only access to public files is restricted. There’s no way for us to assign new transduction codes for travel off-world.”

Nodding as if that was what he’d expected to hear, the Castellan withdrew a golden authorisation disk from his robes and held it out to Damon. The technician stared at it in confusion for a moment before taking it with a cautious smile. Damon fitted the disk into the appropriate slot on the console. He grinned when the computer terminal registered the disk and a command line appeared, blinking on the screen. Everyone gathered round to peer at the small monitor.

“What does this mean?” Leela asked.

“It means,” said the Castellan, sounding slightly smug, “that we have a way to get a TARDIS off Gallifrey.”

“The Doctor’s TARDIS didn’t arrive of its own accord,” Damon explained, “it was recalled with special authorisation from the Lord President. That means it wasn’t assigned normal transduction clearance to land; with a bit of work, I should be able to reverse the recall order without needing to request any additional travel codes.”

“How will we prevent Omega from noticing?” Nyssa asked.

“The system is kept separate from the rest of the Matrix for security reasons,” the Castellan answered. “Unless Omega is specifically monitoring for recall traffic, it won’t register on the primary grid. The Lord President is currently doing his best to keep Omega occupied while we develop a plan.”

“Doctor,” said Thalia, tone prim and formal. “You’ve faced Omega before. I can provide you with the tracking unit I’ve devised. Can we rely on you to seek him out and do what is necessary?”

The Doctor nodded. If Thalia hadn’t asked him, he would’ve volunteered. Assuming they’d successfully thwarted his second attempt at transference, Omega had to be getting desperate. Outside of a small number of renegades and temporal spooks, very few Time Lords had any meaningful experience with true peril. That alone probably made the Doctor the best man for the job; running headlong into certain danger was practically something he did recreationally.

“How long will it take you to reverse the circuit?” he asked Damon.

“Nearly done now. Get to the security compound and prepare for departure,” his friend advised.

Thalia presented the Doctor with a palm-sized rectangular gadget with a retractable antenna and simple touch interface panel display. “I’m not certain of the range, but it ought to be able to provide approximate coordinates for Omega’s ship as soon as you’re clear of the transduction barrier. The sensitivity can be adjusted once you’ve landed for more precise navigation.” She demonstrated the features briefly and handed it to him. 

He pocketed the device and turned to leave. Nyssa and Leela followed him. He raised an inquiring eyebrow but wasn’t given the chance to speak.

“I’m not letting you face Omega alone, Doctor,” Nyssa said firmly. “Especially while you can’t regenerate if something goes badly.”

“You will require an escort to access the security compound swiftly,” Leela added with a tight smile.

He didn’t argue and led the way down the corridor toward the TARDIS.

—

They left Leela at the entrance to the security compound, where Andred had been coordinating the Chancellery Guard’s response to the public fallout from Omega’s takeover of the Matrix. An emergency curfew had been instituted in the Citadel, otherwise the Doctor and Nyssa would have had to fight through a much larger crowd to get to their ship. Andred wished them luck in passing when they explained what they intended to do, returning quickly to the queue of people vying for his time. With Leela standing menacingly at his side, the gathered Time Lords immediately became less demanding with their questions.

When they entered the TARDIS, the Doctor frowned as he examined the console; Damon had assured him that he and Andred had seen to the installation of a fresh space-time element, but he bent to check it anyway. It was a good thing he did, because he discovered that Damon had included an override switch for the recall circuit - they'd need the circuit active to make this plan work. He made the adjustment quickly and stood to make sure it was registering properly with the computer.

The interior of the ship looked different somehow and it took him a long moment to realise that it was because he was viewing it with Trakenite eyes, rather than his normal Time Lord senses. He’d been too distracted to notice the change earlier when Maxil had marched them to the Council Chambers. Now that he was aware of it, he felt strangely off-balance and he missed his ship’s subtle presence in his mind. His transformation had severed a centuries-long connection. Fortunately, Nyssa’s people were not entirely without telepathic sensitivity; when he touched the panel in front of him, he could re-establish contact. She recognised him, but seemed annoyed by the communication impediment between them he’d unwittingly caused.

“Sorry old girl,” he said and moved to check that the pre-flight systems were set correctly. 

Atop the primary navigation monitor, where he was sure to notice it, weighed down by a shiny £1 coin, he found a folded slip of paper. Puzzled, he opened the note discreetly, read the contents, and then hastily pocketed it, face going marginally pinker than normal. 

The note read, in exactingly precise handwriting: _Dear Doctor, I concede I may have underestimated my esteemed colleagues' capacity for self-deception and delusion. I shall endeavour to bear this incident in mind the next occasion a similarly perplexing situation presents itself. In any event, the culprit has been found and rooted out without requiring any intervention on my part, which is just as well. I've found it's best to preserve one's political capital for only the most dire circumstances. I have, however, taken the liberty of ensuring that certain other information regarding your association with that delightfully direct young woman does not come to light. I hesitate to point out the obvious, but surely you must have realized that a diplomatic apartment would be under surveillance?_ It was unsigned, its author all too obvious, leaving the pointed question to needle at him as he prepared the TARDIS for dematerialisation.

Noticing his sudden burst of discomfort, Nyssa gave him a curious look. He kept his gaze trained on the instrumentation.

“Ready here, Damon,” he said, accessing the communication panel to transmit directly to the computer room.

“Right. Activating the recall circuit now,” came the reply. 

The time rotor activated on his mark, sending the TARDIS back through the time vortex toward the Arc of Infinity.


	5. Part Five

“We’re clear,” the Doctor announced as the movement of the time rotor slowed. “Come along, Nyssa.” He moved toward the interior door.

“What now?” she asked.

“If we’re going to stop Omega, I have one or two things to get together.”

—

On Gallifrey, the occupants of the computer room waited nervously, watching the monitors for any sign that Omega had noticed the departure.

—

Deep within the Matrix, a fierce battle was taking place. Borusa and Omega fought mind against mind, each constructing barriers and attacking the other’s defences as they struggled for supremacy over the virtual space. Omega was the stronger of the two, having spent millennia trapped in a universe shaped only by his own thoughts, maintaining his identity through sheer force of will, but Borusa did not need to win, only to distract and delay. He led Omega on a merry chase, building a maze to frustrate the former Time Lord.

It was working. For now.

—

The Doctor worked quickly to assemble the device he needed, having entrusted Nyssa to monitor their progress. She had followed his directions and used Thalia’s device to input new landing coordinates once they’d arrived at the Arc of Infinity. 

“We’re almost ready to materialise on Earth,” she called to him from the console.

“Good. Nearly finished,” he said, not looking up.

“What will that do?” she asked, only after he began fitting the device’s enclosure together. She’d held off on asking until he’d finished the fiddly bits that might require concentration.

“Omega’s using a fusion booster to build up energy to transfer. If we can attach this to his equipment, it’ll knock it out of phase, feeding the power back through the system,” he replied, verifying that it turned on properly. The TARDIS' landing chime sounded. “Ah, excellent timing.” He traded devices with her, handing her the phase modifier and taking the tracker as the TARDIS shuddered back into normal space. Switching Thalia’s device to fine tuning mode, he turned to his companion with an amiable smile. “Let’s go out and see where we are then.”

The TARDIS scanner showed that they had landed on a small bridge over a picturesque canal and indeed, that was the scene that met them when they exited the ship. The dense city they’d landed in was beautiful. Elegant older architecture on narrow, tree-lined streets contrast with late twentieth century automobiles and low canal boats. Several pedestrians and bicyclists gave them startled or confused looks as they passed by, but none stopped to question the pair of time travellers about their mysteriously appearing blue box. 

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Nyssa said, somewhat surprised. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but this was unusually pleasant.

Turning in a circle with one hand inside his coat to draw out his hat, the Doctor took in the view. “I believe we’re in Amsterdam,” he said, eyeing the canal and a sign in a nearby shop window written in Dutch. Something about that struck him as odd, but he couldn’t place it, and they were working against a deadline. He unfolded his hat, placed it firmly on his head, and set off down the sidewalk at a hurried pace, tracker blinking in his hand. Nyssa had to jog to keep up with his longer legs.

They chased the signal through the city, passing clumps of tourists taking photographs, outdoor patio cafés, street markets, and an ever-growing stream of commuters as the work day wound to a close. The Doctor was so focused on the device readout that he didn’t realise they’d circled the same block twice until Nyssa pointed it out to him. He stopped in his tracks and frowned.

“According to the tracker, we’re nearly on top of the antimatter signal,” he said, looking around. They’d entered a quieter neighbourhood, a large house with well manicured grounds to their immediate left, sitting adjacent to a park. The tranquil splashing of an elaborate fountain and twittering birds largely masked other sounds of the urban environment. He held out the tracker and swept his arm in a slow arc, parallel to the ground. Nyssa watched the readout on the display. The device registered antimatter strongest just ahead of them in the street, but there was nothing there that they could see. 

“Could Omega have some sort of cloaking technology with him?” she wondered.

“It’s possible, but I think we’re missing something obvious.” 

The Doctor waited for a car to pass and then wandered out into the street. He circled slowly, coming to a stop finally in the centre of the traffic lane. He shook the tracker, striking it firmly against his other hand and frowned. Then, he bent down, lowering himself slowly into a crouch, eyes fixed to the display. A wide grin spread on his face and he sprung up to return to Nyssa on the sidewalk.

“I should have realised! We’ve been quite literally on top of him,” he said. “Omega’s ship is hiding underground.”

“How do we get to him?” she asked, searching their surroundings for any likely access points and finding none in evidence.

“Hm.” The Doctor looked thoughtful and began his own visual appraisal of the street. His expression brightened as he spotted a gardener up ahead. “Perhaps we can ask.”

Striding over to the middle aged man in dark coveralls tending to a hedge, the Doctor put on a friendly smile and greeted him cheerfully. “Hello, I was wondering if you might help us. My friend lost her ring in the street; we think it may have rolled into a drain. Is there any way to get below the street level nearby?” The man stared at the Doctor blankly.

“Ik begrijp het niet,” he said. 

The Doctor was taken aback. He ought to have understood the man, and the man, him, thanks to the TARDIS’ translation circuits, but he didn’t. He had a strong suspicion of what the gardener had said - the context made it pretty clear and a couple of the words sounded similar to a few languages he did know - but it wasn’t being translated for him. That was troubling; had his altered biology disrupted the operation of the translation matrix as well? And if he wasn’t speaking Dutch, what _had_ he used to speak to the man? The Doctor thought for a second and realised he’d unconsciously slipped back into speaking Trakenite with Nyssa since they'd departed Gallifrey. With no one left in the universe to speak her native tongue, he’d asked her to teach him so that she could hold onto that small piece of her lost culture. In return, he’d taught her English and enough Gallifreyan that he’d had to learn to watch his use of more colourful phrases while making difficult TARDIS repairs. She’d giggled quietly for days once after she’d overheard him mutter something particularly rude about a gravimetric quantizer that refused to cooperate. 

He apologised and tried repeating himself in English. 

This time, the man nodded with comprehension and told them in a heavy accent that there was a maintenance stairwell behind the fountain that lead to an underground crypt and pump rooms. “I doubt you’ll find anything down there; if your girlfriend’s ring fell in the street, it’s most likely in the sewer by now. You’ll never get it back.”

The Doctor smiled apologetically. “I’ve got to try. The ring had sentimental value, you see,” he said with as much youthful earnestness as he could produce to sell the lie. He thanked the man, promised to obey his admonition not to touch anything electrical, and they went to find the stairs.

Though the crypt had long ago been repurposed for the more prosaic task of housing pump equipment and gardening tools, it retained some of the solemn character of its former occupation. The Doctor withdrew a torch from one of his pockets and handed it to Nyssa as they descended. He held the tracking device out like a lantern, using it to guide them. The signal lead to an ordinary pump room, where the sound of the heavy machinery operating inside made normal conversation difficult. 

“This is it,” shouted the Doctor over the din, “the fusion booster from Gallifrey!” He went over to an unassuming-looking device attached to a wall. “Of course,” he said. “I should’ve realised. We’re below sea level here, all the better to maintain pressure for the fusion conversion. Quickly, Nyssa, hand me the phase modifier.”

She handed him the sabotage device and held the torch so that he could see to work. With the noise from the pumps, neither of them heard the Ergon exit Omega’s TARDIS until the creature fired its weapon, missing the Doctor only because he’d chosen that exact moment to bend forward to inspect his work.

Startled, Nyssa screamed and dropped her torch. This distracted the misshapen bird-like creature long enough for the Doctor to charge it, hitting the creature’s side hard enough that he forced it to drop its weapon. Nyssa scrambled to retrieve it while the Doctor wrestled with their attacker. 

“Nyssa!” the Doctor cried, rapidly losing ground to his opponent. The creature was much stronger than he was.

She picked up the weapon and aimed it steadily. “I can’t fire without hitting you, Doctor, you’ve got to move!”

The Doctor dropped all of his weight to one side suddenly, wrenching the creature around and into the line of fire. Nyssa took the shot he’d given her and his assailant abruptly disappeared. With nothing to support him at that awkward angle, the Doctor fell to the floor.

“What was that?” Nyssa asked, coming over to help the Doctor to his feet again.

“An Ergon. One of Omega’s less successful attempts at psychosynthesis, I believe.” He took the weapon from her and examined it suspiciously. "Now that's interesting. It was armed with a matter converter."

“It’s left a door open; we’d better move before it closes,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. 

"Yes, of course," he agreed.

Together they entered Omega’s TARDIS. 

Inside the ship they were met with Omega himself, an oddly forlorn sight in a battered exosuit slumped in a chair that was positioned on a dais in the centre of the room. The figure lifted a hand weakly toward them when they entered.

“Drop the weapon, Doctor.” Omega’s deep voice was still powerful even if his body was not. “Drop it or the Earthwoman dies.” Another limp flick of a wrist and an interior door swung open, revealing a familiar young woman slumped on a bench in the other room. Next to her were two young men, similarly unconscious, but all three were obviously still breathing.

“Tegan!” Nyssa exclaimed, recognising her friend immediately.

The Doctor dropped the weapon.

“It’s too late, Omega. You can’t transfer now,” he said. "You must return to the other universe."

“It is _you_ who are too late,” Omega replied, “I have all the energy I need. I shall transfer and cease to be antimatter!”

He raised his arms and hundreds of lights on the panels behind him lit up in unison. His chair began to shake and the gentle hum of his equipment grew louder until it filled the space. Then, suddenly, warning alarms sounded, adding to the cacophony, and the lights in the chamber turned blood red. 

“What have you done?!” Omega demanded angrily.

A bank of electronics along the wall exploded, showering them all with sparks and bits of shattered glass. The Doctor moved to shield Nyssa with his body and the two stumbled back from the dais. 

“Omega! You don’t even have a complete biodata imprint to work with, the transfer will never work! Go now, _please_ , while you still have a chance,” the Doctor shouted at him.

“I must transfer!” Omega ignored the Doctor’s pleas, and the TARDIS shook violently as the Arc of Infinity shifted.

“Get down!” The Doctor hurled himself to the floor over Nyssa just in time. There was a tremendous burst of light followed by the concussive force of a pressure wave as all of Omega’s transfer equipment exploded. Dust and debris filled the air for a few moments and then all was silent.

Coughing and ears ringing, the Doctor rose to his hands and knees, pulling up Nyssa to check that she was all right before turning his attention to anything else. She was frightened, but alive and unharmed. Waving her hands in front of her face to clear away the particulates, she peered over at Omega’s prone body.

The figure in the black and gold exosuit stirred, and Omega’s manic laughter carried across the room. “Yes, Doctor. I live.” The Time Lord climbed unsteadily to his feet and fumbled with the melted helmet of his suit.

“It’s not permanent. It will fail, revert to antimatter. The bond was never completed.” The Doctor had regained his own footing and approached the dais.

“Oh, wasn’t it?” Omega taunted, and removed the helmet using both hands. 

Nyssa gasped. The Doctor took a step backwards in surprise. The ancient and powerful Omega now wore the face of Tegan Jovanka.

“What have you done?” the Doctor asked.

Omega sneered at him using Tegan’s mouth, stripping off his gloves as he spoke. “You gave me little choice, Doctor. Denying me access to your biodata by changing your form was clever, but ultimately unwise. When Hedin failed to provide me with a replacement, I had to make do with what I had available. This Earthwoman came charging in here, looking for her companion, and I discovered she was known to you. That made using her rather fitting, don’t you agree?”

“Tegan is human! Their bodies aren’t capable of sustaining a Time Lord mind. Even if you’ve completed the transference properly, you’ll burn through that body in a matter of hours,” he argued.

“You’re wrong, Doctor. I have life again. And if this body fails, I will make another. You’ve destroyed my TARDIS, but I can replace that as well. Expect me on Gallifrey soon.” And with those parting words, Omega left the ship.

The Doctor immediately stooped to hunt through the debris.

“Doctor, quickly! Omega is getting away,” Nyssa called to him from the doorway.

“Help me find the matter converter. I can’t stop Omega without it.”

“I’ll find it,” she insisted, coming back and urging him toward the door. “You follow Omega; we’ll catch you up.”

Giving Nyssa a pained look, he obeyed, and exited the ship to chase after Omega.

Working efficiently, Nyssa located the weapon they’d liberated from the Ergon amid the tangle of wires and broken equipment on the floor and hurried to clear a path to the other room where Tegan had been. The blast had thrown the interior door closed and a section of the ceiling had fallen in front of it. Prying the door open, she checked on her friend and the two young men. They roused when she prodded them, but seemed extremely confused, as though they'd been drugged. Only Tegan truly responded normally, snapping to coherence at the shock of seeing her old friend’s face again.

“Nyssa? Is that really you? What are you doing here?” she asked, amazed.

—

Out in the late afternoon sunshine, the Doctor’s pursuit of Omega continued. 

He’d nearly stumbled over the gardener’s body as he came up out of the crypt and discovered that Omega had changed clothes with the man. It was hardly the most inconspicuous disguise he could have chosen, and spotting a short brunette woman wearing oversized men’s coveralls hadn’t been difficult. His superior height was an advantage as well, allowing him to close the distance between them. He was thankful that they’d prevented Omega from using his biodata; he doubted it would have been quite as easy chasing himself through Amsterdam.

As he dashed past yet another person who gave him an alarmed look, it occurred to the Doctor that he might need to invent a plausible explanation as to why he was pursuing a woman through the streets. If stopped, his intentions might be easily misinterpreted. He needed to catch up with Omega, now, preferably somewhere where they did not have an audience.

—

Nyssa consulted the tracking device in her hands. “The magnetic shield is in accelerated decay now. We must hurry,” she reported.

Tegan glanced over at her friend in concern. “What happens if we can’t get to Omega in time?”

“He’ll revert to antimatter,” she said, leading the way through the park.

“And then what?”

Nyssa didn’t answer her, but the look on her face said enough. Tegan started to jog faster.

—

“Give it up, Omega, you can’t continue like this,” the Doctor said, having finally cornered his quarry at the end of a pier along one of the wide canals. 

The ancient Time Lord’s resemblance to Tegan was fading fast; the body was deteriorating rapidly, enormous sections of skin bubbling and dissolving back into antimatter. Omega's shielding was mere minutes from total failure. “I warned you this would happen.”

“Things could have been different. I would’ve brought greatness and innovation to Gallifrey again, if you hadn’t allowed your fear and hatred of me to poison your minds against what I was offering!”

“We didn’t hate you, Omega,” the Doctor said, genuine regret in his voice. He could sense the deep current of hurt and betrayal that lay beneath the righteous anger of Omega’s words. “Perhaps things could have gone differently, if you’d reached out to the High Council openly, rather than conspiring in secret to seize power.”

Omega laughed bitterly. “You don’t believe that any more than I.”

The Doctor looked away. “Why couldn’t you have been content to survive as you were?” he muttered, more to himself than Omega, because he knew that it was an unfair question to ask. Omega had once been a scientist and explorer, and he had lost everything in his quest for knowledge. His enduring legacy was the Time Lords' mastery of travel throughout all of time and space, but he'd paid dearly for it; even the universe which he'd been born into had rejected him.

Omega answered it anyway, his rich voice flat with exhaustion. “It was time to come home, Doctor. Time for rest, to find peace. But now it’s over.”

“Doctor!” 

Nyssa and Tegan came running up the cobblestone embankment, interrupting them. Nyssa tossed the Doctor the matter converter. He caught it and aimed it reluctantly at Omega.

“I can expel you, or destroy you, Omega. It’s your choice.” His voice was firm. “You're endangering the whole of the cosmos by your mere presence here. This universe can no longer be your home.”

“What you offer is worse than death. And if I am to be denied life, then all must perish with me,” Omega raised what was left of his chin defiantly. The air around his body began to shimmer faintly.

“Don’t do this Omega,” the Doctor tried one last plea.

“What’s he trying to do?” Tegan asked.

“Willing his own destruction,” the Doctor answered. “Nyssa, get Tegan away from here.”

“What? No!” Tegan protested, but Nyssa’s steel grip on her arm won out.

“Farewell, Doctor.” Omega closed his eyes and the scent of ozone boiled off of him.

The Doctor pulled the trigger.

—

Tegan was beaming at them both, having just explained that her cousin Colin would be released from hospital in a few days and his parents had arranged with the consulate to get a temporary passport issued so that he could fly home to Brisbane afterward.

“Excellent news,” agreed the Doctor.

“And what about you?” Nyssa asked her.

Tegan laughed. “Me? Oh, I'm fine. I’m indestructible.”

The Doctor cleared his throat and clasped his hands loosely behind his back, signalling that it was time he and Nyssa were off. He was trying to be polite, but there was still business to conclude on Gallifrey and he was already very tired. After which, they would need to see about reversing his chameleon arch trick; he was not especially looking forward to enduring that painful experience again.

He’d deliberately avoided mentioning his transformation when giving his brief summary of the events leading to their chance meeting in Amsterdam. In light of how certain events had played out, that information felt oddly private to him, something that he and Nyssa alone had shared. Still comfortably in sync with him, Nyssa had respected the omission when Tegan had pressed her for more details without his asking her to.

“It’s been marvellous to see you again, Tegan,” he said warmly. He was genuinely glad to see her happy and well after their rather abrupt parting of the ways at Heathrow.

“Indeed. I’ve missed you. I wish you didn’t have to go back to your job,” Nyssa held out her arms to hug her friend goodbye.

“What job? Didn’t I tell you? I got the sack.” She laughed again. “You’ll not be getting rid of me that easily this time.”

“Oh Tegan, that’s wonderful! We’d love to have you back aboard the TARDIS, wouldn’t we Doctor?” Nyssa's excitement at having her friend back bubbled out of her.

"Yes, of course." He attempted to look pleased, but the smile failed to reach his eyes.

—

She found him in the console room several hours later, after Tegan had gone to bed.

They stood opposite one another, the gently drifting time rotor dividing the space between them, uncertainty palpable in the air. It was the first quiet moment they'd had alone together since early that morning and so much had been left unsaid. The Doctor was fully himself again, a Time Lord in body as well as mind, the true depth of his feelings hidden from her once more. Though this was the normal state of affairs for them, the loss of their connection suddenly felt exquisitely painful to her, and she did her best to hide this newfound sorrow as she watched him. His shadowed blue eyes regarded her solemnly for a few moments, until he could no longer bear her open scrutiny and dropped his gaze guiltily.

Nyssa's breath caught in her throat. She closed the distance between them and reached out to touch his arm gently. He held perfectly still, as if afraid to make a move, lest he do something regretful. She knew him well enough to recognise his hesitation for what it was, a sign that he was feeling conflicted.

"Are you all right?" she asked him. He'd been subdued since Amsterdam. The confrontation with Omega likely weighed on his mind, she reminded herself. He’d done the only thing he could have under the circumstances, but that had never stopped him feeling guilty before.

He looked down at her and nodded, still not trusting himself to speak. The lie was obvious, but she let it pass without comment, instead lifting a tentative hand to brush his fine blond hair back from his face. He closed his eyes and brought up his own hand to cup around hers, leaning into her touch. Then slowly, like a man in a dream, the Doctor bowed his head to press his lips softly against the sensitive pulse point at her wrist. She shivered at the intimacy and they both sighed softly, the Doctor's breath a cool whisper on her forearm, hers warm against his chest. 

Without saying a word, they were back to the essential question that had been hovering on both their lips since they’d ventured beyond the realm of ordinary friendship: now what?

Time, fragile and intricate, spun around them, weaving its infinite tapestry. He could taste it, sense the barely visible shapes of probability forming and reforming. Nyssa practically glowed with possibility; her delicate healer's hands would do incredible things, had done the impossible many times over already. Their future together was finite, he knew; he'd always known, though he didn't always want to see it. He could have this, could have her, for only a short while longer. His grip on her hand tightened slightly.

“You’ve not changed your mind?” she asked, the barest sliver of hope creeping into her heart even though she knew it would be wiser to brace herself for disappointment.

“No, I haven’t.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears when he spoke, thick as it was with rarely displayed emotion. It certainly might have been better if he had, but it was too late, he’d already made the mistake of letting himself care for her more than he ought to have. No point in pretending he hadn’t now that the damage was done. He took a steadying breath; there was something he needed her to understand, if there was to be any hope for this ending less painfully than it had when he’d attempted it in the past. 

"But I feel I ought to warn you, if we continue this... affair, it won't be the same." He frowned and wet his lips before continuing, holding her pale hand in both of his between them. "Though there are broad similarities in our physiology, Gallifreyan biology is rather different than Trakenite. While I am certainly capable of engaging in - and enjoying - activities like last night’s, the profound desire for physical intimacy experienced so naturally by other species has been largely bred out of my people, and what little remains we are taught from a very early age to suppress, lest it interfere with our judgement." He was doing his best to keep his tone matter-of-fact and failing badly. 

"I'm not saying we won’t…” he swallowed the unspoken word and looked away, a little colour rising in his cheeks, “…again, however, I can't promise I'll be any good at recognising when you need more from me. I will try, but I'll probably need prompting." He smiled awkwardly at her.

Nyssa's serene grey eyes caught his. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, her own mouth curling up slightly at the corners. She put her other hand on his shoulder to encourage him to bend down to her level. He bowed his head obediently and held carefully still in anticipation of her next move. The kiss that followed was gentle and lingering. When their lips parted, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. They remained like that, swaying gently to the tune of the slowly pulsing time rotor for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished the thing! *high fives all around* Woo!  
> Thank you for reading! Apologies and thanks also to Johnny Byrne, who wrote _Arc of Infinity_ , and whose dialogue and story I have ruthlessly reworked. If you enjoyed this little adventure, comments and other feedback are always appreciated by the author.


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